


Stranger Silence

by esama



Category: Final Fantasy VII, Vampire Hunter D, Vampire Hunter D Bloodlust
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, M/M, Mentioned Eugenics, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rimming, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-17 16:38:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 37,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11855547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esama/pseuds/esama
Summary: The Barbarois need new blood to bolster their bloodlines - to that end, they summon a demon.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed as usual  
> Also Warnings  
> In the first chapter there is talk of basically eugenics, basically people (in this case the Barbarois people) breeding to produce the strongest offsprings.  
> There's probably also going to be sex talked and maybe happening eventually

"Let me tell you a story, stranger," the Elder speaks, approaching the dark haired man slowly. "We are the village of the Barbarois – outcasts and mutants and freaks. This is where, many a century ago, those that society discarded gathered, to be alone together, than apart in the world that so loathed us."

He motions around them, to the village carved into stone. It looks impressive at first glance, like a temple with it's many vaulted doorways leading deeper into the mountain, with the carvings in the rock and machinery over head. The village isn't entirely enclosed – it's pored instead into two jutting peaks, covering almost entirely the sharp ravine that cuts right through the mountain, though whether it was natural or shaped so by tools, is hard to tell.

From the many door ways, windows and peek holes, demons and monsters and mutants watch them. Women with snake's bodies, kids with lizard's limbs, men with more legs than they should... There are people who look like they were made of living shadow, others that seem to be covered in moving hair, there are werewolves and hags and creatures that don't even have name.

"We cloistered ourselves here, where humans would not live, where we'd be free of censure," the Elder continues. "We carved out living out of crude rock and we made a home for ourselves where others would not come. Where we would be safe. There weren't many of us, a mere couple dozen, but we made out way of the world. Anyone would respect that, I think?"

The dark haired stranger says nothing, watching him without expression.

"That was five thousand years ago, when the Nobility started waning and humanity rose to fight monsters," the Elder says and looks away bitterly for a moment. "And for most of those long, long years we've been secluded, with only ourselves to rely on, only our selves for company. And they were good years. Harsh, but we were safe, we were at peace. We could... procreate without judgement."

The stranger's eyes narrow now, watching him warily.

"Thousands of years of seclusion has given us strength like no other," the Barbarois Elder continues. "We have honed our abilities – our demonic bloodlines have risen to sharp peaks of power. Our best manipulate elements as if they were born to them, our best live in shadow like it was mere air to them. Our best can surpass even the strength of Nobles!"

Now there is sound other than the Elder's speech – nervous and tense cheers from the hidden archways and doors around them, as the half hidden people of the Barbarois speak their agreement. The Elder nods, proud and satisfied at the people, and then he turns back to the stranger.

"We, the Barbarois, are strong," he says proudly. "Not even the, tch, new Revolutionary Government the humans set up in the old Noble Capital can touch us. But strength like ours isn't managed by nothing. Nothing springs from void – everything must have a base. And we've had ours, we've perfected it. Now, it is time to add something new."

The dark haired man he's talking to closes his eyes for a moment, his lips thinning in displeasure. "That's why you summoned me here?" he asks slowly, his voice like gravel. "To be a breeding stock?"

"You," the old man says, looking at him almost covetously. "Whatever you are, you are strong. I can _taste_ the presence you put off, a true demonic aura! We've long lost ours, you see, in our program of enhancing select traits some things had to be sacrificed. I can't say any of us is a true demon, not any more, the bloodlines are far too blended – but you... you are a demon, no, not merely a demon. You are a greater demon, aren't you?"

He moves closer to the stranger and the dark haired man opens his eyes sharply. The glow in the shadowy darkness of the Barbarois village – and the old man stops, nervous.

"Please, Great One, lend us your power. Share it with us, so that we may prosper and grow strong!" the Barbarois Elder says. "You're a monster like us, surely you understand our blight? In a world that hates and despises us for our very existence, we must be strong or we might perish at the hands of those who would rid this world of things not like them. Surely... surely you understand."

The stranger says nothing and the silence that follows the elder's passionate speech is tense and uneasy. In that silence, the demonic presence wrapping around the dark haired strange seems to swell and pulse, licking at the air around him, making it seem thick with malice.

"No," the stranger then says and pulls out a gun. "I think not."

* * *

 

Vincent Valentine had been asleep when he'd been summoned. It had been one of his longer stretches of sleep; judging by his stiffness upon waking up where he wasn't supposed to be, it might have been centuries since he'd gone to his most recent stone coffin, to wait for the world to pass him by.

That is more or less what he does now. The world has already left him behind long ago, centuries ago, maybe millennia, back when he'd buried the last of his old companions. He hadn't made the effort of making connections after that – knowing he'd eventually just lose them too. There was no point to inviting such pain.

When there is no one and nothing to hold you to the present, time moves faster – which is just as well. It would take the end of the planet to erase his now meaningless existence on it's now seemingly vacant surface, and the sooner he gets there, the better.

Though of course the planet isn't vacant. The times he glimpsed it between bouts of long sleep Vincent had seen it grow and recover and by now it is flourishing. Where there had been empty plains, forests and orchards and endless farm fields now grow. Where before there had been mere ramshackle villages trying to scrape a living out of the parched earth, there are now cities full of life – and flowers.

It is everything Avalanche could have hoped for. Vincent can appreciate it too in those terms, as ancient dream come true. But it is hardly reality to him.

His reality is a world ravaged by cruelty and malice, his reality is a small handful of people who'd reached for him in the darkness and pulled him out of it with their, then, foolish optimism and determination. His reality... is buried long ago into graves that had by now been lost, along with histories of those who'd been buried in the. No one remembers Avalanche, or Cloud Strife – they don't even recall Sephiroth, or ShinRa. Even the Meteor is ancient history now, perhaps a mere myth.

Vincent sleeps and pretends he too can forget – until he's woken by the feeling of his body being torn apart by a feeling he can't recognize – but the beasts within him can, waking from their slumber in rage and irritation.

 _Summoned...,_ they growl at him. _Who dares, who dares, who DARES..._

And they remember _their_ reality before him. The howling void of what Vincent can only interpret as being _Hell_ , where they'd been before Professor Hojo had started tinkering with summoning materia to further his experiences. Some had been there for eons, others for only handful of years – all of them, in their own way, had been suffering. That had been an existence of endless pain and burning. Punishment, maybe, Vincent used to think. That was what the classic hell was, after all – punishment for sinful souls.

Some of them – like Galian Beast and Chaos – had been summoned countless of times, and they remember the fury of it every time. The tearing agony of moving between dimensions and realities and the outrage of being _commanded_ by beings they saw lesser than them. The others, Death Gigas and Hellmasker, both much younger souls than the demons, knew less by experience, but they'd been together for long time now – stories and experiences had been shared.

Before Vincent, the Galian Beast had oft been summoned to do meagre, meaningless tasks like slay humans, or to fight in wars that weren't his. Used as little more than attack dog and tool, he'd both enjoyed it for the destruction he could wreck and hated it for the humiliation it was every time.

Chaos, a much older and much more powerful demon, had it worse still. He'd been summoned to share his power, more often than not – to imbue demon's aura on objects or weapons. Sometimes he, like Galian Beast, had been summoned to perform tasks, but more often it had been to cast curses, to grant power, to grant _wishes_ as if that was one of his powers. A tool for finer purpose is still a tool.

In Vincent they have a prison they can't escape and they hate him for it – but in Vincent they also have a respite and in their own way they appreciate it. Trapped in their host, they cannot be summoned to do menial tasks and lower themselves to command of creatures so much lesser than them. In Vincent, they were imprisoned – and free.

Or so they thought.

The summoning tears Vincent apart and his demons' outrage wraps him like a cloak, thick with malice and fury.

* * *

 

Vincent aims the Cerberus at the Barbarois Elder. His beasts are closer to surface now – even more infuriated now. Of all the reasons to be summoned – to be a breeding stock?

"Now, please," the Elder says, holding up his hands. "We mean you no harm, great one, and of course we would not force you. All we ask is for you to consider lending us your aid –"

"No," Vincent says. "How did you summon me?"

The Elder hesitates, his pale eyes narrowing a little. "We Barbarois have spent a long time mastering our sorceries," he says. "Summoning is an old art and we are _very_ old."

"That's not an answer. How did you summon me?"

"A circle, sacrifices, power," the old man says and looks him up and down, appreciative. "Quite bit of power, in fact, but well worth it if you –"

Vincent cocks the gun and the old man cuts off, looking a little displeased. He glances to the side and nods his head. Vincent prepares for an attack – but instead of an attack, what he gets is a woman approaching them. She's clad in skin tight green suit matches the colour of her long, massive hair and as she approaches them, she's the very image of confidence.

"Hello there," she says, coming to the Elder's side and cocking her hips, folding her arms just below her beasts, pushing them up. "I am Caroline of the Barbarois, at your... service."

Vincent eyes her – taking in the cut of her clothing which dibs the neckline of her skin-tight suit down to her lower abdomen.

"Caroline is the strongest of our females," the Barbarois Elder says, with obvious pride. "The beautiful fruit borne by our long programme – a shape shifter capable of taking the shape of any material she touches."

Vincent blinks slowly at them, still aiming Cerberus at the old man's head. Caroline smiles at him, full of confident teasing, and arches her body to the side a little, enhancing the curves of her hip. They're not saying it, they're making him assume it – and it is easy to assume, in light of what the old man is saying.

"No," Vincent says again, and turns his eyes to the old man. "The exact method of summoning, now."

The old man's eyes narrow sharply and Caroline's teasing smile twitches, going from well rehearsed to forced. It's not what they're expecting – and in the back of his head, Chaos cackles meanly.

 _I would have_ , the demon hisses in his ear. _They're betting on that. Any demon would have, if not for any other reason than to destroy what they call strong. It would have been a pleasure._

Vincent doesn't answer him.

Re-calculating his position the Elder of the Barbarois leans his head back a little. "Share with us your strength, and I will give you the method," he says.

Vincent shifts his aim and shoots him on the shoulder. The explosive shot echoes in the village, sharp and overwhelming in the silence, while the old man doesn't even falter – taking the shot like, well, a demon.

"You are quite rude, aren't you," the elder says slowly, while the gaping bullet wound blurs shut, and even his clothes repair, all signs of the shot disappearing as if it didn't happen. "In that case I suppose we have to use force."

Caroline rushes forward, her nails and fingers lengthening into swords that go to rake at Vincent. It's a fast attack, definitely faster than a human could've managed – but Vincent isn't human either.

Her claws only catch cloth as Vincent whirls and shoots her in the forehead. Her expression falters just for a moment and then spreads into a grin.

"Using a gun to make your mark," she leers at him as the hole on her forehead closes up again. "What a _demon_ you are."

Inside Vincent, there's a howl of amusement as Vincent switches from single shot to automatic, and unloads into her. She takes the couple first shots, grinning wildly at him, but after the sixth her expression shifts and then she's gone – sunken into the ground, turning into rock.

Moment later, spikes of rock jut out from the solid stone under Vincent's feet and go to skewer him. Vincent shifts out of the way just in time and then jumps – and when the spikes grow still, he lands on the highest one, the sharp point doing nothing to his gold shaded metal boots.

Reloading his gun, Vincent narrows his eyes to Caroline, now grinning from waist deep in the ground, her whole body now the shade of the rock around her.

So not only can she take a shape of the material she touches, but she can also manipulate it – but only to a point. Every material has its strength ratio, and you could only lengthen a spike of rock so far before it became structurally unsound.

Bullets seem to do her now harm, however. No matter – Vincent has other weapons in his arsenal. And her being Earth...

Idly snapping Cerberus' barrel shut, Vincent aims it at her forehead. She laughs at him. "Haven't you already figured out that does nothing to me?"

Vincent aims – and cast Tornado on her. The wind whips out of the barrel of his gun and then circles around her, turning into a whirl wild on the spot and _dragging_ her out of the ground and into air before she can do more than flail. She's quick to recover though, spinning in air and then lashing out with her suddenly much longer hair, taking hold of anything she can reach – ledges, rocks, the very spikes she'd made – to steady herself midair.

"Now that," she says, her form returning to more humanoid materials, "is more like it!"

Vincent watches her, eyes narrowed while behind him someone is turning on a powerful light. They have an audience, and the audience doesn't seem particularly concerned about the battle taking place right in middle of their village – they're even craning their necks for a better look.

Vincent ignores them and concentrates to cast another spell – Firaga this time. The flame explodes out of his gun, but she's faster and only her hair is caught in the spell's wake before she's already moving, coming at him.

She swipes at the spikes under Vincent, and his footing is shattered. Then, as he falls, she reaches out, her hair turning on him and taking again the shape of rock spikes, coming at him from seemingly all sides.

Vincent lets himself fall just for a second – and then he moves, letting his body flow from physical form into something else. Her spikes pierce liquid cloth as Vincent flows around the attack and behind her, to aim his gun against the back of her head.

"A shape shifter too," Caroline says, obviously pleased – but she goes still and her hands come up. "Now now, don't be hasty, love – I was merely testing you. And oh my, you are strong, after all."

Vincent watches her, unimpressed. "The method of summoning," he says and glances at the Elder. "Now."

Chaos feels it before Vincent does and whatever comes at him from behind is met not with Vincent's open, vulnerable back – but with the quick spread of wings, that slash at the attacker and then lift Vincent up and into the air.

There's a man there, dressed from head to toe in single thing of black cloth – and he's holding a vicious looking knife to the spot where Vincent had just been.

 _What a fun place this is,_ Chaos whispers at him, full of glee. _Let's destroy it._

 _Let's burn it,_ Gigas says eagerly. _Burn it burn it BURN IT._

Vincent feels the transformation creep up on him, shifting his body and his clothes as Chaos wraps his form into Vincent's, turning him into the demon the Barbarois probably had been trying to summon. Cerberus changes in his hand, turning bigger and far more deadly, and its barrel burns red.

"Wait!" the Barbarois Elder shouts. "Wait, wait, please! I'll give you the method, please, stop!"

Vincent aims the barrel at the sky instead, and the blast cuts through the air straight upward, neatly piercing a hole through the clouds above. The air smells like ozone and ash in its wake.

 _Tch,_ Chaos mutters as Vincent descends, still mostly in his form, back to the ground

"Benge, get the book," the Barbarois Elder commands and the man who rose from Vincent's own shadow makes a face and then disappears, possibly to fulfil the command. The Elder turns to Vincent. "A – misunderstanding, you understand, surely," he says quickly, looking nervous. "Tests of strength between the powerful – perfectly commonplace –"

Vincent eyes him and then casts a look at Caroline, who walking towards them with a hand stroking through her massive hair as if she hadn't just tried to kill him – or at least, subdue him.

"That form looks better on you," she comments, smiling teasingly at him. "You should have opened with that. It would've been... much more enjoyable."

Vincent says nothing.

The Elder wrings his hands, casting looks between Vincent and his gun until finally the man called Benge returns with a thick book with black covers.

Vincent can't understand a single symbol on it – the whole book is as good a gibberish.

Caroline, who is watching him closely, catches onto it instantly and grins at him. "You can't read it, can you?" she asks and leans in. "I could teach you, if you did something for me. You might even enjoy it, it could be mutually... pleasurable arrangement."

Vincent closes the book. "I don't think so," he says flatly.

"Pity," she says and smiles. "It could have been fun, you know."

The Barbarois Elder clears his throat. "All this – drama aside, please," he says and bows his head low. "Welcome to the Barbarois – you're free to stay as long as you'd like, and all of your needs will of course be provided for –"

Vincent ignores him and takes to air.


	2. Chapter 2

The moon looks different. True enough, it has been some time since Vincent actually looked upon the moon, and he knows that at some point they'd achieved cheaper space travel and that humans had reached the moon many centuries ago. And humans, at their most industrious, could change a face of a planet far bigger in far lesser time – it makes perfect sense that they might change the face of a celestial object much smaller than a planet.

But it looks... too different.

It sits above the mountain where he'd been summoned, not quite full. A sliver of it is missing, and the dark side sinks into to the craters on its face, fracturing it into specks on that side. There is a mechanical quality to some of the shadows – lines that are too clean and too straight to be natural. There is even something that looks like a square though Vincent can't even begin to guess what it might be. Roads, perhaps, buildings, colossal structures of some sort anyway. Signs of industry nevertheless.

But that doesn't even begin to touch on the fact that the moon... is too small. It's barely half of the size of the moon he knows.

Vincent tugs at his collar uneasily, staring up at the shining, almost round disk above him. Even the wispy clouds passing it by can't hide how alien it looks. What was it they said, about moon slowly drifting away from the planet? That was supposed to take ten of thousands of years, however. It couldn't have been that long.

 _You were summoned_ , Chaos grumbles in the back of his head. _Why do you think you're still on Gaia?_

Vincent doesn't answer and instead looks down, at the mountain on top of which he's standing.

He's starting to think it might be man made. Or... made anyway, whether by humans or something else. It looks natural, but it doesn't look... old. There is something about the shape of the rocks and their texture, something about the terrain that seems a little off. He can't put a finger on it, but it doesn't seem like mountain like this should stand on a region like this – it just doesn't seem right somehow.

Artificially made mountains, moons that was too wrong... and language he couldn't even decipher the symbols off. At this point it wasn't a question of what he didn't understand – but what he did. How was it that he could understand the language of the Barbarois?

No answer from Chaos this time, just a laugh.

Crouching down on the mountain top, Vincent takes the book out again and peruses its symbols for a moment. There's repeating patterns and the symbols have a certain flow, definitely writing of some sort. There are some illustrations on the book as well – hand drawn circles of lines and more symbols. Summoning circles, Vincent muses – though far more intricate than something one might get with summon materia. Magic, but not quite as he knows it.

For a moment Vincent just stares at the strange symbols and strange magic circles, letting that thought seep into his head – that he might very well be on another planet. Another reality too, perhaps. That was what summoning did, it pierced through the veils between dimensions, reaching beyond them to far distances, to other realities. Like Hell. Like this place, where-ever it is, whatever it is.

Perhaps he should count his blessings that it's more like Gaia than the place where his demons originate.

_You should._

"Hmm," Vincent answers and closes the book. He tucks it under his jacket – no pocket big enough to hide it, but his belt will keep it in place for now. Closing the buckles again, he considers the mountain range, considers letting Chaos take over his form again so that he can have another look from above.

 _Me, me, me, let me,_ another voice snarls from inside him. _Awake, angry, let me!_

Vincent tilts his head. Well... why not.

Galian Beast roars into the front and Vincent falls on his hands and knees for a moment as the transformation rolls through him, shifting his bones and tearing his muscles into new places. His hands transform as he watches, nails lengthening to talons, metallic and golden on one side, and more natural on the other.

His face is the last to shift, but it's thankfully the fastest – and then he is the beast, or as close to the beast as it can make him these days.

Vincent shakes himself, to get the now fur-like hair out of his face, no longer supported by his bandana and only barely held back by his horns. Then, while Galian Beast howls in pleasure, he leaps down from the rock and begins investigating the mountain side.

* * *

 

There seems to have been some truth to the old man's words in the mountain – the Village of Barbarois had been built in a very inhospitable, unliveable place. It isn't merely that the rocky mountain seems utterly unsuitable to growing anything, either, though that alone seems enough.

There are gas vents everywhere that spew out toxic gas into the air. What sort of gas it is, Vincent can't quite tell – the one time he gets close enough to breath in the stuff, it gives even Galian Beast double vision, makes their senses twist and blur. It is probably only thanks to the Ribbon that the confusion doesn't take them, but it's a close thing. After that, they keep well clear of the puffs of noxious gasses.

There are monsters on the mountain too – that, though, seems at last familiar. Even after the Planet healed, it refused to stop punishing its people, and so the Mako born monsters remained for centuries after. Even the more concentrated efforts to eradicate them had never worked – they would always re-emerge after, spawning straight from the Lifestream itself.

These monsters are different though.

The first one Vincent encounters is a spider, a gigantic specimen with some sort of status ailment power – it tries to confuse him, or perhaps allure him, he's not quite sure which. The Ribbon does its job again, keeping him safe from its effect, but the fact that he can still sense it is telling. It's not mana born ability, not even an enemy-skill. It's something else.

And then he kills the thing with four well placed shots to what passes for its head – and it doesn't disperse, doesn't fade into flecks of energy, doesn't return to the Lifestream.

A physical monster.

_Haven't you sensed it yet?_

Vincent examines the monster – cutting open its body and then recoiling at the stench as its very physical and very real guts spill onto the dry rock. It's... revolting, and not his because of the stench.

The next monsters he encounters seem the same – and there are quite a lot of them on the mountain. A creature of... nearly incorporeal mist that lurks in the crevices of the mountain – incorporeal up to the point a Bolt cuts through it, at which point it breaks into rain of blood and viscera, spilling everywhere. A dragon-like creature with only it's fore legs and stumpy wings, which spews acid at him – it too leaves behind a corpse, with the shards of Blizzaga jutting from its body.

All physical creatures, not mako or mana born constructs.

Vincent examines them all after he's killed for a bit, trying to get a handle of their physiology. Though their make up is... strange, they're more like animals than anything else. Bones, flesh, blood, sinews and various viscera – things that evolved naturally, that gave birth to their progeny, that died and left behind a body to rot and disintegrate. Strange, so very strange.

On Gaia, actual animals are... rare and carefully preserved. Zolom was one of the rare wild ones.

Vincent avoids the monsters after that – it goes against something deeply ingrained, to kill actual living things like that, even if they're trying to kill him first.

 _Still so sentimental,_ Chaos mutters in disgust.

Vincent doesn't answer.

* * *

 

Slowly, Vincent circles farther and farther from the village of Barbarois. He can see the villagers themselves occasionally, roaming the mountain side – but it's rare and he soon figures out why.

The Barbarois don't have any problem with fighting the creatures of the mountain side – but they have harder time of actually winning. Vincent watches from a distance how group of them – hunters of some kind, they're bringing back a three eyed grazing creature and some strange, multi winged birds – are ganged up on by group of strange looking creatures, like snakes bit with legs and multiple mouths.

The Barbarois are all heavily armed – some with actual arms, others with their own physical mutations – and they win the fight... but it doesn't look easy for them. The snake creatures are fast and ferocious, strange sort of pack hunters judging by the looks of it, and they very nearly manage to pin the Barbarois before enough of them are shot with laser blasts and blades and claws for the rest to run. The Barbarois themselves take that as opportunity to run as well – run back towards their village as fast as they can.

The monsters of the mountain don't attack Vincent, not like that. More often than not he sends them running. There had actually been couple of times when something had looked like it might attack him – like a lizard like bird that had tried to swoop down on him. Only, as soon as they got close enough, they decided otherwise and fled as fast as they could. Terrified of what they had thought to make prey out of.

_We're the stronger predator. They can sense it._

It's almost as if everything here is naturally equipped with Sense materia.

Vincent moves on further and further down the mountain, and eventually down the rocky flatland around it. He has no map of this place and no notion of where to find a settlement – the Barbarois village is all he has to go on – so he keeps it in mind as central point of reference as he moves further and further away from it. If it comes down to it that he needs to return there, he can.

This world is making him curious now, though. It's so different. At its worse Gaia had been devastatingly dangerous, the wilds infested to brimming with monsters, the plant life growing spines and poisons to defend itself from harm. While the planet had healed, it had grown spikes to protect all life she had left to give, until travel on ground became impossible. Cid had made a fortune in those years, producing a fleet of ships until Highwind Co. was biggest business entity on the planet.

Here though, here it seems even worse than it had been in Gaia. The world here is... filthy in a strange way. Vincent spies on monster's nests and monsters eating each other, he finds remains of human skeletons – and monster skeletons too – with teeth marks on their bones. He finds rot, and decomposition and terrible poisonous flowers growing out of weathered rib cages. It's all of it so disgustingly visceral compared to the cleanliness of mana born beasts that left no sign behind when they died.

"Fascinating," Vincent murmurs, running a golden talon along white petals of exquisite looking flower that grows in the shadow of ancient, dead tree.

It tries to shoot a poisoned stinger at him.

* * *

 

Eventually Vincent finds a road. It's beaten hard into the ground by strange, arching marks, like circles but broken. There are wheel marks too, though not tread marks – whatever took this road, it was neither chocobo nor a car. One end of the road withers into nothing in the rocky lands around the Barbarois mountain – the other grows steadily out and joins another road, wider, more travelled by.

Adding this into the mental map he's building of the region, Vincent picks a direction on the perhaps-main road, and starts following it, hoping it might lead him to some sort of settlement. Humans or monsters, it didn't matter – so as long it might give him some answers.

It's almost dawn when he finds a road sign – and discovers he can't read a word of that, either. There are two types of symbols on it – the same symbols as the one in his book, and then another type of symbol, slightly simpler, more rounded and unified. Words and then short string of there more rounded symbols. Place of a name and distance there – letters and numbers.

Vincent moves on. Road with signs is good, though – might indicate a settlement near by, or if not that, then at least the road is in use and travelled often enough to require road signs. Maybe he'll run into someone.

He almost gets run over instead.

A... vehicle some sort of thunders into view, pulled by strange looking four legged creatures, eating up the distance fast. Vincent watches the thing approach curiously and then has to jump aside as it nearly runs him over. The creatures – which look slightly robotic closer up – rear up in alarm and the vehicle careens off course, its weight swinging slightly to the side, wobbling.

"Stop," a voice speaks from somewhere, echoing in the air – in Vincent's head even – and the creatures pulling the vehicle slow down and pull to a halt, leaving the large carriage they'd been drawing almost sideways on the road.

It's impressive looking construct. It's not actually touching the road at all – it is instead supported by four hovercraft engines on each corner, which keep the mostly metallic vehicle couple of feet above the ground. The vehicle itself is all black with silver ascents, obviously made to look aesthetically pleasing. It has windows, all of them covered by dark curtains, and it has a seat on front, well cushioned – and empty.

While Vincent quickly determines that creatures pulling the vehicle are the same ones that leave the broken-circle patterns on the road with their strange, toe-less feet, a door on the side of the carriage opens.

A man with white hair steps out. He's dressed in impressive looking black cloak, and is holding it's hem up with one arm, using it to shield himself from – what, the light? He's very pale and, Vincent notes with rising interest, has blood red eyes.

"That aura – you're from the Barbarois?" the man asks, and his deep voice resonates strangely in Vincent's head.

"It's the next left turn," Vincent says warily. He can't tell what it is it – what this man is. He's not demonic, he isn't like the Barbarois... but he's something. Even Chaos is warily quiet in his head, watching, waiting.

The white haired man looks him up and down. "You're far from your village."

Vincent doesn't answer, just watches.

"And your eyes..." the white haired man narrows his, looking for a moment like he might say something, do something, perhaps even attack. He looks insulted. But then it fades and the man closes his eyes, shaking his head almost ruefully. "No, those times are long gone," he mutters and turns away, to look ahead. "Next left turn, you say?"

"Yes," Vincent agrees, carefully keeping the confusion from his face.

"Thank you," the white haired man says and then glances at him. Then he seems to decide that Vincent's business isn't interest of his he nods and returns to the carriage, closing the door. "Continue," his voice says from inside, resonating – and the four legged creatures set out again, pulling on the carriage.

Moment later, they're speeding down the road again, soon out of view.

Vincent looks after them for a while, wondering. But... if the man and his strange contraption are heading towards the Barbarous, then it holds no interest for him.

And yet... the man had known his more demonic nature instantly.

"Aura," Vincent mutters, narrowing his eyes a little. Maybe it wasn't just that everyone and everything here had Sensor abilities – he was also putting out something they could pick up. He'd need to stop that, somehow. But how?

 _Hmph,_ Chaos says. _Why would you want to?_

Why _wouldn't_ he want to? It's giving away his strength, his level even maybe – and it's definitely giving away his nature, even when he is in human form. Convenient in keeping monsters away, it's still giving potential enemies far more information than one ever should.

 _Ah,_ Chaos says.

 _Sneaking spy,_ Hellmasker mutters and tsks in disgust.

"Old habits," Vincent answers without inflection and turns to follow down the road.

 _Well... I suppose there is merit in tricking victims,_ Chaos muses. _I can give it to you – for a price._

"What price?" Vincent asks.

Chaos considers it for a moment, almost humming in his mind in thought. _The monsters here are alive – they have souls,_ he says. _Let me have them._

Vincent bows his head and then glances backwards, at the Barbarois mountain and all of its beasts. "You mean Lifestream."

_Different world, different rules – can't you feel it yet?_

There is no Lifestream here.

 _Their souls go nowhere,_ Chaos whispers. _They come from nowhere and they go nowhere. It stains this world like rot, all this vile energy, all these rotten souls. Let me have them – and I will give you knowledge._

A risky bargain – but then it always is a risky to bargain with a greater demon. Vincent tugs on a collar, thinking about the bests he'd killed so far. The spider, the dragon, the gas thing... living, breathing creatures, with minds of their own, how ever small, however simple.

In Gaia it would have been unspeakable. But he's not on Gaia, is he? And he's not here willingly.

"Next ten monsters I kill, you can have them," Vincent says finally. "But only if they're non-sentient and non-sapient."

_…that'll do._

Vincent closes his eyes briefly as Chaos not so much tells him how to control his aura, as he _pours_ the information down Vincent's brain, where it settles like black stain over his mind, the demonic knowledge seeping into his consciousness, into his memories. Shudder runs through Vincent before he smothers it.

Feeling little heavier in his own body, Vincent draws in the energy he is putting out and then, with a deep breath, continues down the road again. He'll regret the bargain probably, he always does with Chaos – but then there aren't many things he doesn't regret in life.

* * *

 

The settlement he eventually finds is nothing like he imagined – and yet it makes some logical sense, considering what he's seen so far. It is surrounded by a high wall, and guarded by men with various firearms – and the moment Vincent gets near, they aim at him.

"You there," one of them shouts, as if Vincent wasn't the only one on the road. "State your business."

Vincent looks up at them, looking for a reaction. They're suspicious, fearful, nervous – but not alarmed. The trick with his aura seems to work – they don't instantly know him for the demon he is.

Good.

He doesn't actually have a business at the place, though – just various questions he'd like answers to, and perhaps some tutelage in the local writing if at all possible. He holds no hope of getting either, though, especially in light of this wary suspicion he's greeted with.

"I've lost my gear," he settles on saying. "I'd like to purchase a map at least." It would be a good starting place anyway.

That makes the men share looks, nervous, even more suspicious. "Your occupation?" the man who spoke demands to know.

Unemployed probably wouldn't work to his benefit here. He's not sure how mercenaries are received, either. So far the only thing of professional nature he's seen are these guards – and maybe the Barbarous hunters he'd spied on the mountains.

"A hunter," Vincent settles on saying.

That makes the men nod in almost satisfied understanding, as if it is expected, though the suspicion remains as strong as before. "And what, exactly, do you hunt?" the man in lead demands, eyes narrowing, sighting Vincent along his rifle's crosshairs.

It sounds like a trick question. The answer would probably matter if Vincent knew enough to give a precise answer. As it is, though... "Anything I can reliably kill," Vincent says.

"Huh," the man in lead says. "And what can you reliably kill?"

More trick questions. "I'll let you know when I'll encounter something I can't," Vincent says. "If you're not going to let me in, then point me to another settlement."

The hint of impatience is enough and finally the rifle lifts. "Don't try anything stupid, hunter," the man up on the wall says. "We've got nice active Vigilance Committee here."

Vincent says nothing as they open their gates, to let him in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vincent Valentine, Professional Vagabond.
> 
> Also yes, that was Meier Link.


	3. Chapter 3

The settlement behind the guarded wall is both bigger and much smaller than Vincent had expected. It is bigger in the sense of the area it covers – it's nearly ten minute walk from the actual wall to the town itself, and in his head he calculates the length of the wall itself to be several dozen miles, at least. But... it makes sense.

The wall not only covers the settlement – but the settlement's farmlands and orchards as well. The road he walks down on is surrounded by them on both sides and though the planets grown there are all unknown to him and grow at sizes vaguely alarming, they're still recognizably farmlands. And the... creatures on fenced off fields are farm animals, even if they look like no animals he's ever seen.

It is starting to look like it isn't just the Barbarois mountain that is a harsh place to live. Any settlement that has to enclose not only its living and business quarters but also its food production inside its wall is a settlement besieged, endlessly, at all sides. Is it like this everywhere, or was it just this desert region that was so harsh?

It's a little surprising, but he is actually curious to find an answer. So he hastens his steps a little, as he heads for the cluster of houses at the centre of the enclosed area.

The village is both completely foreign and entirely natural. The architecture is strange and the materials they use on houses are a strange mixture of wood and metal and something else, something he can't begin to identify. The buildings have a sort of thrown together look about them, at a first glance, because of the mix of materials – but there is a define pattern. Metal on bottom, wood and this strange new material on the middle and metal again on top. Protecting the flooring and the ceiling. Interesting. Still, they are recognizably houses; homes and businesses, some with large windows, others with small. All of them, Vincent notices, have metallic shutters, like garage doors.

Even despite the wall, and the surrounding farmlands, every building here is build to withstand an attack. And, noticing some strange scrapes on one of the half lowered shutters, for apparently good reason.

It's early in the morning still, but there are few people around. One of them is packing the saddle bags of one of the strange looking, semi-robotic four legged creatures, like the one that pulled the trailer of the white haired man. Some are just hurrying along, possibly heading to their jobs. Few are just... walking down the streets, with guns at their sides, rifles in their hands. Patrolling.

Everyone here actually has a weapon. Be it a gun or a rifle or a crossbow of all things, everyone is armed to some extend, from men to women – the only child Vincent sees has a knife on his hip. It reminds him a bit of how it used to be after ShinRa's fall, after the loss of ShinRa's armies and the security they provided, when times were restless and uncertain and monsters might attack villages and towns at night.

Never mind the humans who might do the same in full daylight.

"Hey, you there!" a male voice calls, the aim of the shout directed at Vincent, and he pauses. "Your business here?"

Vincent glances at the speaker over his shoulder, but doesn't turn fully. The speaker is one of the more heavily armed individuals – a guard of some sort, perhaps from the Vigilance Committee mentioned by the wall guards. Thankfully, he is still few feet away, and doesn't look like he's intending to come closer.

"Store," Vincent says.

"What was that?" the man asks.

"My business. I'll visit the store to replenish my gear – and leave."

Judging by how nervous these people seem, with their guards and patrols and guns, and how badly Vincent fits in, it's the safest way to go about it. Just scout the place out, get any information he can – and leave.

He is not blending in here, that much is glaringly obvious. The people here wear simple clothes of dull, pale colour mostly – no one wears anything resembling leather anywhere other than their heads in form of wide brimmed hats. Ho one wears anything like a cape or a cloak either, except the rider with the riding-animal, who looks like he's getting ready for a ride out. Vincent, with his black leather and red cape and bandana, sticks out too much.

And he'd already gotten a glimpse of a warning from the strange, dangerous man on the road with his carriage. The mention of his eyes had been brief – but it stuck to Vincent's memory. His eyes had offended the man, but the man had seemed in too much of a hurry to address it. They might offend these people too – and they had time and incentive to express the insult.

So, he keeps his face in the shadow of his hair as much as he can, and keeps his eyes low lidded enough to hide their colour, and plans his exit strategies just in case.

"Just the store and then you go?" the guardsman asks.

"That's the plan."

"Hop to it, then," the man says and gestures at one of the store fronts near by. "I'm watching you."

Vincent eyes him, taking in his body language – and then he turns to the store. There he is faced again with the problem of not being able to read – he can't tell what the sign above the door says, what the paper pinned on it has written. It looks like list of some sort – prices, maybe?

This would be... interesting.

Vincent heads forward, feeling the weary eye of the guardsmen on him as he enters the store. It, at least, is perfectly familiar looking, with shelves and tables and cabinets displaying goods. There is even a row of coolers and refrigerators in the back, with bottles and tightly wrapped things on display behind glass doors.

Nothing is wrapped quite how he expects, though.

"Good morning," a yawning voice says as woman in an apron steps behind the counter, tucking her hair into a bandana wrapped neatly around her hair. "Sorry, I haven't yet everything out, I just opened – oh, hello, you're new," she then says, noticing his clothes. "And definitely don't look like you're looking for a bag of fertilizer. What can I do for you, stranger?"

Vincent hesitates, eyeing the shelves. It's not just food on display in the place. There are racks of clothes and stand with several leather hats, there's boots and gloves on display as well – and guns, behind a barred window with warning light blinking on the side. There's what looks like saddles – just two of them – and several bags to attach to the saddles. There are sleeping bags, rope, blankets and pillows, there's even towels and kitchen ware...

It looks like the place sells everything. Problem is... Vincent has no money.

"Do you buy?" Vincent asks, turning slightly to the store keeper.

The woman's friendly expression hardens a little and she folds her arms. "That depends on what you have to sell, stranger," she says. "I don't take no ragged hand-me-downs, that's for sure. And no used guns either," she adds, glancing at his hip. "We ain't a pawn shop."

No, everything in the store looks brand new and never used, that much is true.

"How about medicine?" Vincent asks

He's long since stopped bothering carrying around a full inventory – there's no point, when all you do is sleep. But old habits die hard – or in his case, never – and he still carries a fully equipped satchel at least. Question now is, would any of its contents be of interest for the woman?

She narrows her eyes. "What'cha got?"

In answer, Vincent reaches out and takes out three different items. A normal potion in its pencil thin phial, an Eyedrop potion, now days the size of a thumb nail, and small bag of Remedy pills.

The woman's eyes narrow further. "Handmade stuff?" she asks, but he has some of her interest now. "What they do?"

Vincent sets each item on the counter in front of her. "This," he motions at the potion, "will cure surface level injuries. Burns, cuts, acid stains. This," he moves onto the Eyedrop, "will cure any damage done to the eyeball. Administered right, it might even cure blindness. And these..." he points at the Remedy pills, "will ease the symptoms of any ailment."

Normally they _cured_ any ailment, but he doesn't know enough of this world to boast that anymore. All he can hope is that his items do something at least. In Gaia Remedy provided a full recovery, but he has no idea about the ailments of this world.

The woman's eyebrows arch and then lower. "May I?" she asks and at Vincent's nod she picks up the remedy pills. She eases the bag open and then takes out one of the pills. "How much would you charge for this?" she asks.

Vincent glances around for a point of reference. "How much do you charge for that?" he asks, pointing at what looks like loaff of bread, wrapped in some strange thin, translucent material."

The woman considers it. "Four dala," she says then.

"Then the pill is worth around six hundred," Vincent says after a quick calculation. "Four hundred now that you've touched it."

The woman eyes him for a moment and then sets the bag down, still holding the pill. She turns to the registry, presses her thumb on what appears to be a fingerprint reader, and it opens. From it, she takes out four coins, setting them on the counter before him.

"I'm checking this," the woman says.

Vincent takes the coins – it's something at least, if it turns out the Remedy doesn't work here, and she won't buy from him. "Go right ahead."

As he watches, the storekeeper takes out a sharp, delicate looking knife and scraps a bit of white powder off the Remedy pill. She then takes out a device form under counter and puts the material onto a small cup there before turning the device on. It hums with electricity and then beeps as she hits a few buttons and waits.

Some sort of analyzer, Vincent muses. It's... years and years ahead the technology of Gaia as he'd last seen it, if it really can instantly read the make up of the pill.

Apparently it can, because after a moment it spits out a small piece of paper, which the woman takes and reads through. "Huh," she mutters, frowning and then casts a look at the pill. For a moment she seems to weigh it, looking at the paper again, then at the pill, and then at Vincent. Vincent says nothing.

Finally, she takes the pill, pops it into her mouth, and washes it down with a swig from a flask.

The change is instantly apparent. Her slight frown eases into look of surprise and she goes to touch her stomach, looking confused and then looking up at Vincent in shock.

"This is Noble tech, isn't it?" she says slowly.

Vincent doesn't answer. The woman nods as if that was expected and then folds her arms, eying the three items on display.

"Six hundred Dala per pill, you say," she murmurs. "How about these two, then?" she motions at the two phials.

"Hundred for the first, two for the second," Vincent says and checks his inventory. "I can sell you five of each."

He has more, but chances are he might need them – better not waste it.

"And how many pills does this have?" She motions the Remedy bag.

"Around thirty. If you buy it, you can count them."

She considers the items for a moment and then looks at Vincent. "Are you looking to buy anything?" she asks and tilts her head a bit. "Maybe we can do a bit of a trade?"

"Yeah," Vincent agrees. "That sounds fine."

The store keeper smiles. "Excellent," she says and turns to her register, apparently to do a bit of calculation on it. "Pick what you'd like and I'll settle the difference in dalas."

Vincent nods and turns to peruse the shop – collecting his merchandise from the counter as he does. "You have maps in here?"

"On right, behind the hats," she says. "Region maps on top."

"Thanks."

The maps, too, are packed in the see through translucent wrap, so he can't open them to see how they're made – but judging by the packaging, they're factory produced and printed, so that's a good sign. He selects one of the heftier looking map packages from the top and then goes to check what else the store has to offer.

He might have to get a hat, should his eye colour prove to be a problem... it would certainly come in handy too, if the region is as sunny and cloudless as it seems right now.

First, though, he needs the basic necessities. And it has been what feels like hundreds of years since he last ate anything – he's starting to feel a little hungry.

 _Meat,_ someone in the back of his head murmurs, and Vincent casts a look at the selection of meat cuts in near by cooler. Then he turns away – too much hassle and he's not buying and lugging around cooking gear when he has no chocobo to load it on.

"Any good travel rations here?" Vincent asks the store keeper.

"Just over there," she says and points. "I recommend the honey-seed bars – all the nutrients, proteins and vitamins you need out there and plenty of sugars to keep you going. And they'll last you a couple of years, unopened."

"Nice pitch," a new voice says, and the bell to the door rings as someone else enters the store. "Think I'll have me some of those too.

"Welcome," the storekeeper says. "Ah, another stranger. This is starting to be an interesting morning."

Vincent glances at the newcomer – a red haired man in a skin tight red suit with a neckline that goes down to his lower abdomen. Hmm. Maybe Caroline's choice of clothing hadn't been merely to provide distraction in the battlefield – maybe it was a local fashion, after all.

The man looks to his way and frowns a little, taking in Vincent's cape with slight suspicion.

"What can I do for you?" the storekeeper asks the newcomer.

"Yeah – I'm going to need provisions for five – four people," the redhead says, making a slight face as he corrects himself and turns to the store keeper. "Food, water, vitamin supplements, the works. You have apothecary around here?"

"If you're looking for something specific, Clinic's the place to go," the storekeeper says. "I got the basics. Although –" she nods to Vincent's direction. "This one is a medicine peddler."

"Doesn't look like one," the redhead mutters, eyeing Vincent up and down. Then he shrugs and then rests a hand on his hips, near the knives strapped to his belt. "You got anything for aura exhaustion?"

The woman straightens up sharply, giving the man wide eyed look.

Aura exhaustion, Vincent thinking. Was that something like being low on mana? "What's the cause?" he asks.

"It's none of your business," the redhead says. "You got anything for it or not?"

Vincent gauges his expression – little hard and none too trusting – and then glances at the storekeeper. Her eyes are little wide. Whatever this is, it's serious.

Vincent reaches for his satchel and takes out an Ether, holding it up between thumb and forefinger. "Three thousand," he says. "I can sell you total of five."

The redhead's expression goes lax for a moment and then suspicious. He glances at the storekeeper, who is eyeing Vincent now with astonishment.

"That's... either bullshit or dogshit," the redhead says slowly. "That's way too cheap."

Damn – gauged the price too low. "It only works to certain extend, doesn't provide full recovery," Vincent says slowly. "Take it or leave it."

The redhead eyes him up. "I'll take it, all of them," he says then, apparently deciding the risk was worth it, just in case the stuff worked. He reaches for his waist and opens a small pouch there, taking out handful of coins and counting them out – fifteen in total. Each must be worth a thousand.

So there are thousand dala coins and hundred dala coins – and bread being worth four dala, so there must be one dala coins too. Vincent presses it all in mind, privately grateful of the simplicity of the currency so far. Wutai's currency was base twelve, and it never stopped being annoying, trying to count currency in thirds and sixths.

Vincent accepts the coins and then hands over the five phials of Ether, which the redhead is quick to pocket. "Pleasure doing business," Vincent says somewhat dryly, more at himself than the man – looks like he's become a medicine seller now... and then their eyes meet.

The redhead's eyes widen with shock, and then narrow in suspicion and realization. "That's funny," he says with a wry sort of tension, darkly amused. "You're the second dhampir I've met in as many days."

A what now?

"Oh," the storekeeper says in tones of horrified realization and looks at Vincent. " _Oh_."

Vincent glances between the redhead and the store keeper. "Problem?" he asks faintly, not quite reaching for his gun. Their body language has turned tense and almost fearful – the redhead has actually widened his stance a little and now that Vincent looks him closer, his obvious upper body strength is telling. Strange knifes, that stance – he uses throwing knifes, most likely, perhaps even throwing stars.

The storekeeper hesitates, touching her stomach. Then she gets a determined expression. "They don't look kindly upon dhampirs here," she says firmly. "If the Vigilance Committee finds you out, they'll either kill you outright or kick you out of town – and they'll rob you blind doing it. You better be quick about your business here, stranger."

"And here's a warning for you," the redhead says, still eyeing Vincent warily. "One wrong move and I'll kill you. I'm a vampire hunter and I travel with vampire hunters – and taking out a rogue blood-craven dhampir is nothing new to me."

Vincent stares at him for a moment as _that_ statement slowly unpacks in his head. Vampires. _Vampires_ and blood-craven dhampirs. And apparently his eyes marked him as one of them.

"Good to know." Vincent says and picks up hat closest to his colour from the rack – dark brown, almost red. He's never had much of an opinion about hats – they'd never been really in fashion in... Any of his times. He has no idea whether this one looks good or not – the brim isn't arched upwards like in some of the hats the people about town have, though, so there's that. "Thanks for the warning."

The redhead arches his eyebrows a little and then snorts softly. "Thanks for the meds," he says and backs away – still facing Vincent as he does, not giving him his back.

Whatever a dhampir is, it's something to be worried about it seems.

Vincent looks away and puts the hat on his head. It fits somewhat tightly over the bandanna, but hopefully it would work better at hiding his eyes than nothing at all. Then he turns to continue his shopping.

The redhead vampire hunter snorts again. "Damn, you're chill," he says. "Another warning for you. That other dhampir I mentioned? Yeah, he's another vampire hunter – and looks like he's in town too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that was Kyle Borgoff and now we're smack in middle of Bloodlust and I need to change tags...


	4. Chapter 4

Vincent tallies up his purchases silently in his head. A wide brimmed leather hat – the leather coming from animal he doesn't know – 99 dala. A selection of dry rations, half of it edible as it is, half needing to be hydrated, 59 dala in total. A flask, 19 dala. A map of the region, 9 dala. A new leather satchel to attach to his belt to carry more things in, 89 dala. Quarter kilogram of gunpowder, 459 dala. A pack of seven road flares – good enough to chase most of the nightly critters away, apparently – 199 dala. Fire making tools, 39 dala. Bottle of lighter fluid, 59 dala, couple of random books and magazines which he hope will help with figuring out the local writing, total of 45 dala...

Why almost everything here has a price that ends in a 9, he isn't sure, nor is he sure he cares. Marketing trick, perhaps. In total it doesn't even begin to make a dent on the 15000 dala he got from the redhead vampire hunter. As it is, he doesn't even purchase the items for money, trading them with the storekeeper for Potions and Remedies – and in the end, she pays him back nearly another 10000 dala for the things she buys from him.

"It still hasn't faded," she muses while carefully putting the remedy pills away.

"Hm?" Vincent queries, while carefully and neatly packing everything away in his new satchel.

"The effect of that pill," she says, touching her stomach and making a face. "I have – I was sick with foam worms once. They managed to save me, but something went wrong during the healing process and –" she shakes her head. "They said I'd get used to the burning. They were wrong. And there's never been a painkiller that stopped it fully. Not like this; it's just... gone."

Vincent eyes her silently. She rubs at her stomach. He has no idea what foam worms are, but they don't sound particularly pleasant.

The store keeper glances at him and smiles awkwardly. "I guess that's common thing with you? Bet you've heard thousand stories like that," she muses. "Where do you get those pills? Can you get more? You'd make a fortune if you started a proper supply line."

Vincent looks down at the satchel and then snugly fits in the carefully wrapped packet of gunpowder beside the ration packets, well away from other flammable things. "Thanks for the business," he says.

"Alright, keep your secrets, stranger," the storekeeper says, leaning her elbow onto the counter. "Still, if you're ever in town with those pills of yours, come by – I just might buy some more. Especially at these prices."

"I'll keep that in mind," Vincent says and then snaps the satchel to his belt, shifting it to the back where it joins the satchel he already has there. Then he looks at her. "Any suggestions about where to head next?"

She hums, considering him. "If you're just wandering, Lavaet are beautiful this time of the year. If you're looking to peddle more medicine – I hear Airenvil is in middle of bad flu epidemic, and the clinic they got is barely functional. You might make some money there."

Vincent looks away for a moment, considering it. He's not actually a medicine seller, and his supply of items is limited, and with the funds he now has... "Lavaet, then," he decides. "Which way is that?"

"Half a day's ride west of here, just keep following the road," the storekeeper says and sighs. "I rode through once just right about this time – the ruins were all flooded, it was beautiful."

Ruins. Right then. "Thanks," Vincent says.

"Good luck to you," she bids him, as he turns and leaves the shop.

The vampire hunter, who'd gotten his purchases before Vincent had, is long gone and the streets have more people now – men and women going about their business, kids playing, younger adults hanging about looking bored mostly. Vincent eyes them from under the sheltering shadow of his new hat, trying to get used to it – it does help with his eyesight in the glaring light of the sun.

The guardsmen are gone too, Vincent notes. Had they gotten distracted – or gotten bored of waiting? Or hidden? He can't feel anyone watching him either, not even from shadows – only the mildly interested glances of the people passing by, nothing truly marked...

Well, without guardsmen prodding him along... he might as well take a moment to look around.

The village – he really should have asked its name, even if it might have given away his general ignorance of the region – is more alive now. Shutters have been opened and windows sit slightly ajar, letting in the air. There is chatter in the air, comfortable and almost homely, but with a tinge of something that reads to Vincent as wariness. And still, even under the bright light of the sun, everyone is carrying weapons.

Even at daytime, nobody here feels _perfectly_ safe. Even at daytime, they feel a hint of insecurity, even with their walls and weapons and guardsmen roaming the streets. More testament to the harshness of the region.

Slowly – but not so slowly as to seem aimless – Vincent follows the street down, watching the people, the buildings, the few animals he can see. There is a blend of technology and lack of it that seems... curious. The carrying animals especially make him wonder – they seem to be some sort of equivalent to a chocobo, but they've been made at least partially robotic... why? Certainly just making a car would be easier – and there are cars, he can see one heavily armoured tank at some sort of fuel station.

In Gaia, chocobos had only been widely used in that brief time after mako and before the eventual full shift to completely electric vehicles. No one would have thought of making chocobos motorized – for one the conversion would have been ludicrously expensive and for two... a car is easier and simpler to make than any robot with legs, never mind a functional semi-intelligent robot with legs.

It's a curious dichotomy that really makes Vincent wonder about the available fuels and power sources in this world. The Barbarois had windmills on their mountain, but these people have none – and he hasn't so far seen any solar panels. There aren't any signs of electrical poles either, if these people use wiring at all, it's all hidden, possibly due to risk of being attacked by monsters. Had they then buried their power lines?

Vincent eyes a lit up screen on the wall of one building curiously – it has bars in its windows so perhaps a bank or some form of law enforcement station – when shouting catches his attention. There is... a garage near by, judging by all the parts lying about it, and as Vincent watches a group of men rush inside, hand guns and rifles at the ready.

Wondering if he's curious enough to go and take a look, Vincent watches from the side and listens – but the garage is too far to catch any actual words. What he does catch though is a sight of short haired woman in read body suit, sidling along to the garage, to eavesdrop. Her expression is tense – and a little bit smug.

Vincent eyes her for a moment, then the garage and the few men still just outside it with guns at the ready, and then he decides that no, he isn't interested enough to risk it and walks away. It might explain where his own shadows had gone, he muses and, continues his exploration of the place.

He runs into the vampire hunter again, near the edge of the settlement.

"Hey, medicine seller!" the redhead vampire hunter from the store calls to him. "Damn I was just about to go looking for you. What the _hell_ did you just sell me?"

Vincent pauses as the man marches over to him – but though his body language is vaguely predatory in the way most mercenaries and habitual fighters have, it's not immediately hostile. "Problem?" Vincent asks, keeping his hand at the ready near his gun.

"Fuck, no – just, what the hell is that stuff?"

Vincent doesn't answer, eyeing him warily. Around them the few passers by near enough to listen are giving them curious looks.

The Vampire Hunter hesitates and then steps closer, to speak without being overheard. "I got a bro, see, really strong psionic – he's... kinda in a bad shape, it wears him out bad," he says, glancing the way of the nearby armoured car – or maybe it's a truck. "And aura recharge, that's worth more than we can usually afford and it never works right, but your stuff – instant. What the _fuck_ is that stuff and where can I get a barrel of it?"

Vincent frowns a little, glancing the way of the tank. "Psionic," he says slowly. Something like telepathy, then, telekinesis? Aura recharge too... these people, their equivalent of mana doesn't naturally replenish with rest?

"Mmhm," the vampire hunter says and folds his arms, giving him a look. "That stuff you sold me – Noble tech, right? Can you get more of it?"

Vincent bows his head. He'd dabbled with enough chemistry during his old studies into ShinRa, he can throw together most of the simple potions and such – with right materials and... help. This world doesn't have Lifestream though.

 _It does have something_ , Chaos purrs in his head. _Something that could work as equivalent... if you knew how to use it._

Vincent carefully keeps his expression neutral as Chaos teases his mind with the knowledge – giving him sense of déjà vu over something he has never actually experienced.

"Currently, my supply is limited," Vincent says. "I don't know if more is... possible."

"Hmm," the vampire hunter says. "Where did you get the stuff originally then? Maybe we can go for the source."

"No, you can't," Vincent says and then glances at the man. "Can I see your brother?"

"What – you're doctor now too?"

Vincent doesn't answer.

The vampire hunter hesitates for a moment and then looks ahead. "Oi, Borgoff!" he calls. "I found him!"

There's a man by the armoured truck, dark haired and tanned, who looks like he's carrying parts to the car. He looks up and frowns a bit at Vincent's direction. "Damn, it really is uncanny," he says and the waves a big hand to them, motioning them over. "Come on over, medicine seller, I wanna talk with ya."

"That's my brother, Borgoff – I'm Kyle, Kyle Marcus, of the Marcus brothers," the redhead vampire hunter says and then goes to clap Vincent on the shoulder. He stops at Vincent's glance and awkwardly lowers his hand. "Well, c'mon."

Vincent follows him to the tank of a truck sitting in the shelter of the fuel station's shadow. Borgoff sets the box of spares he'd been carrying aside and then looks Vincent over. "Another dhampir," he says. "And judging by the looks of it, just as talkative as the other guy. So," he folds his arms. "You sold Kyle some medicine, right?"

Vincent blinks and then concentrates his mana. The Sense activates with rehearsed ease and – fails to supply him with nearly as much information as he's used to. No name, no stats, no actual data – just a sense of strength and accuracy and experience. No mana, though.

"I'm assuming it wasn't for you," Vincent says.

Borgoff eyes him and then throws his head back and laughs uproariously. "That's funny," he chortles and wipes at his eyes. "That's hilarious."

Vincent says nothing.

"He says he wants to see Grove," Kyle says.

Borgoff's laughter quiets down and he shakes his head. "Fuck, of course he does," he says and gives Vincent a look, narrowing his eyes. "If that stuff you sold didn't work half as well as it did, I wouldn't even consider it, dhampir. Where did you get that stuff?"

"Nowhere I can get more from," Vincent answers.

"Damn," Borgoff says and scratches at his beard, giving Vincent considering once-over. "Stole it off a Noble then?" he asks and then nods when Vincent says nothing. "Thought so. You should've slapped couple more zeroes to the end, my friend. You seriously undersold your merchandise."

With that said, he turns to the tank and swings it door open, peering inside. "You feel like having a walk about, Grove?"

"You couldn't stop me if you tried," a weary voice answers from the inside, and Borgoff reaches in to help somebody out.

Vincent looks up and thinks – _ah_.

The man who steps out is young and worn almost literally to the bone, so thin that Vincent can see the contours of his cheek bones. He's wrapped up in thick layers, in warm coat and thick scarf and his feet are so thickly padded in socks that they barely fit in the soft slippers he's wearing. He looks like bed ridden hospital patient.

He _is_ a bedridden patient; Vincent realizes and casts another Sense.

Now that he's prepared for the strange lack of hard data, the vague information he gets is interesting. There is a sense of immense hollowness in the man – an empty well. There's also power and air and light and _burst_ of exhilaration so strong it borders on childish. Whatever this young man can do, it's powerful and it uses a lot of mana.

It's also killing him. If Vincent had to put a number to it, he'd judge the young man's mana pool to be in the high seven hundred range – but he has barely any of it left. And from what Kyle had said, they'd given him at least one of the Ethers, so... even that is only thanks to the tincture.

 _No Lifestream,_ Chaos whispers.

And so, his mana never recovered from its expenditure. He uses it and uses it – uses himself up.

"Oh," the young man says, staring at Vincent. "You – did something just now?"

Kyle and Borgoff both tense up at that, turning to look at Vincent warily.

"An examination," Vincent says, watching him. The young man is leaning onto Borgoff and only barely standing at all – no muscle mass left, he's tipped over from expending his mana and it's starting to eat up his health too, and has been eating it up for years from the looks of it. He's... at death's door.

"Couple more spells and you're a dead man," Vincent says.

The young man's cheek flexes and then he smiles. "Yeah," he agrees. "The stronger the power, the faster the decline."

Sounds like an anecdote. A terrible one.

How is it that world with magic like this one obviously has... has no Lifestream? These people have power, according to Chaos they have Lifestream equivalent – souls, whatever those are – so... why no Lifestream itself? Before now he didn't even realize life could exist without Lifestream. Where did these people get their lives from when they were born, with no Lifestream?

 _Lifestream isn't a necessity for life,_ Chaos laughs almost mockingly. _It's its side effect._

Vincent frowns and then pushes the thought aside and looks at the exhausted young man. Then he reaches back, for his original satchel, and takes out a phial. A different one this time – dark red, with horned cap.

"For this I'm going to need lot more than just three thousand," Vincent says.

"What is it?" Borgoff asks, eyeing the phial suspiciously.

"Full recovery."

Kyle stands up straighter and Borgoff's eyes widen a little. "That... sounds expensive," he says slowly.

Not really, Vincent thinks wryly. He has lot more Elixirs than he has actual Ethers – his mana pool is at nine hundreds after all. It's not like a tincture that only recovers him hundred points of mana is much use to him.

"How much do you want for it?" Kyle asks.

Judging by how badly he'd undersold the Ether, and the apparent rarity of tinctures of this nature, the price should probably be in the ballpark of hundred thousand and more. Vincent isn't sure he needs money, though, he's never been particularly fond of carrying large sums around.

What he needs more than anything is to learn how to read the local language, and it's a damn awkward thing to ask.

"I don't want money – I want a trade," Vincent says instead of making any specific demands.

The Marcus brothers share a look, and Grove tilts his head, the clearly pronounced lines of his thin neck in stark relief in the sunlight. "Well," Borgoff says slowly. "We've mostly only got vampire hunting tools here, but... Let's see if we have something that might interest you."

While Grove enjoys what looks like his first walk in the sunlight in several months, maybe even years, Borgoff and Kyle rattle off a long list of weapons and tools they have in their battle truck. Vincent dismisses most of it – he has his gun and he's satisfied with it – though their mentions of, "tablet computer, it's old but it still works," and "we've got these goggles here, they got a decent zoom on them," and, "there's Leila's wheel, though she might kill us," catch his interest.

Vincent is considering the tablet computer when he hears the beat of four legged animal's steps and feels... _something_ and turns to look over his shoulder. There is a rider, coming towards them – no, heading for the exit and he's...

Vincent fires up the Sense materia again.

The sense he gets is strange. _Time_ is the first thing that pops into his head, just _ancient time_ and then power and _blood_ and strength, mana and health both. It's like scanning _Cloud_ except Cloud had never felt this... fathomless. It's like looking into an abyss and trying to measure it – and there is no end to it.

The rider stops like to a brick wall and his robotic animal rears on it's hind legs at the hasty standstill, front legs beating at the air desperately before crashing down so hard that the pavement might've cracked. It's almost impressive.

Then the abyss is looking back at Vincent – he too had felt the scan, like the worn Marcus brother had. And it's impossible to say how pleased he is about it.

"D," Borgoff says to the rider. "What a surprise."

The rider ignores him, staring at Vincent instead, and Vincent takes him in slowly, warily. The sense of _power_ is still echoing in his head and he's not sure he can put a finger to just how old the man in front of him is. He looks young, though – not merely ageless like Vincent knows he looks, but... actually _young_. Young and impossibly old.

He also has two different healths – two different wells of mana. Two entities, in one body.

"You two know each other?" Borgoff asks curiously. "My, what a small world. We just made acquaintance with the – I never actually caught your name, medicine seller?" he glances at Vincent.

Vincent doesn't answer – waiting. The rider's face is still expressionless, not giving away anything and so Vincent doesn't either – he wants to see a reaction before he makes any sort of move and give any sort of opening.

Problem is, the man is looking at him like he's waiting for him to do the same thing.

The silence following Borgoff's words stretches to awkward proportions and Kyle clears his throat. "This a dhampir thing?" he mutters, casting a look at his brothers, both of whom shake their heads with confusion.

So, this man was the _other_ dhampir then. Vincent can see... sort of why Kyle had made the assumption about Vincent. But they are not the same – this dhampir is something very different from Vincent.

The rider's eyes narrow almost imperceptibly – it's not enough to be called suspicion, but it is a reaction and Vincent can just barely read the censure in it. The rider knows Vincent isn't a dhampir – but at the same time, he knows Vincent is something, just not what.

Vincent narrows his eyes – and then, just to see the reaction, Senses the man again, this time concentrating onto the life signs specifically, both of them. His eyes twitch automatically to the man's left hand, which in reaction squeezes the reigns just a little tighter. The second life sign is there, in the man's hand. Interesting.

Borgoff clears his throat. "So," he says – and then straightens up when the rider releases the reigns and swings down from saddle.

Vincent stands his ground, facing the man – three inches or so taller than him, dressed in materials Vincent can't recognize which make a cape with horned shoulder pads and skin tight body suit under it, both of them black. Like Vincent now, he too has a wide brimmed hat, probably for the same reason. His eyes, though not red, aren't quite human. Too old, too deep – too cold.

They face each other – and neither says a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the Great Silence fell.


	5. Chapter 5

There have been precisely two people who have ever been able to stare Vincent down properly. First was his father, when Vincent had still been young enough to see him as being something larger than life – before he had known any better. In grand scheme of things it hadn't lasted for long, but it had been so early in his long life span that the time seems to stretch out in his memory.

The other was Aerith Gainsborough, who could stare down anyone and win with her hands literally behind her back. Later on, years and decades and centuries after her death Vincent wonders if it was her Ancient nature that gave her such persuasive powers or if it was just the force of her personality, but it had always been impossible to face her and not feel... slightly ridiculous.

This man in front of Vincent doesn't have Grimoire Valentine's affectation of grand presence nor does he have Aerith Gainsborough's gentle amusement that always seemed to so easily dig beneath the skin. He has _something_ – Vincent can feel the power of it flickering at him, threat and push trying to make him bend... which might very well make someone with less fortitude to quickly give in.

Whoever the dhampir in front of him is, he's used to being the strongest person in the room, physically and mentally. It's all there, in the slightest twitch of his lashes when Vincent fails to fall into line – this man is used to mere look being enough to get him answers. The expectation might only be subconscious, but it's there.

But it's not enough to make Vincent bend. As it is, he knows these tricks – he uses them himself. And so he gives the man as much as he's being given – his full attention and little else.

It doesn't hurt that the man is very easy to give attention to – his presence alone demands it and his looks easily retain it. And Vincent isn't beyond appreciating a beautiful thing when he sees it.

Someone clears their throat. "Damn," Borgoff says with what sounds like tense grin in his voice. "This is really something, isn't it?"

"It's something alright," Kyle mutters. "Excuse me, medicine seller? We were in the middle of something?"

Vincent is still holding the Elixir, though his hand is to his side now. The words are enough to breach the surface of the tension though, just enough to start a wave and the dhampir's eyes shift, glancing downwards, at the phial. It's almost artful, how still his face stays as his eyes move, taking Vincent in. Not a single hint of emotion.

It makes Vincent really wonder how the man sees him – what he sees, what he deduces. Vincent can guess, roughly – though not outright demonic most of the time, Vincent doesn't exactly hide his nature. The gauntlet, the boots, the cape he wears – they're all evidence of _otherness_. He wonders how it all reads to the other man.

"This is ridiculous – just fucking _say something_ already!" Kyle almost bemoans. "Grove, are they using telepathy or something?"

"Not as far as I can tell," the withered young man says in tones of tired curiosity.

Vincent's eyelids twitch to glance their way but he doesn't – it's enough of an opening though, and the dhampir in front of him looks up and their eyes meet again. "Name," he says.

His voice is softer than Vincent expected – it fits the face though.

"Yours?" Vincent answers and doesn't move. His voice is rougher, lower – doesn't fit his face, he knows, but it fits his outfit.

For a moment, nothing. "D," the dhampir then says.

It takes effort to keep the annoyance off his face. That's not a name, that's barely even an initial. Borgoff had said it before though, so it must be what the man goes by – but that's... just irritating. It's more an implication than an actual identifier. It raises more questions than it answers – and it does that, Vincent supposes, by design. To make people comment and ask – and so, give him information about _them_. And you could tell a lot about someone by how they reacted to such name, or rather the near-lack-there-of.

Fine then.

"V," Vincent answers and the subtle tightening around D's eyes is _very_ satisfying.

"Oh my god," Kyle bemoans and Vincent can hear him run a hand over his face. "You can't be serious."

Vincent is deadly serious – and perhaps somewhat perversely enjoying himself. Whether D is, it's impossible to tell – he hides that tiny hint of irritation fast, his face turns impassive again. Something about his eyes shifts, though – something about his gaze hardens.

He's taking Vincent a bit more seriously now – he's now officially been labelled as an adversary.

"Hey, over there! It's the dhampir!"

There's sound of feet and of guns being cocked, rifles being hoisted up and Vincent can feel his lips tighten in dismay. D's eyes slide away from him finally, to take in the group of men coming their way – the guardsmen, the Vigilance Committee.

"You there!" a man with a badge on his chest, some sort of leader, shouts and aims a silver shaded pistol at D. He's still running, his aim is going everywhere with his steps, but he's obviously trying to sight at D's heart. "Hold it right there!"

D looks at the man, ignores the gun, and then turns back to Vincent. The hesitation isn't quite visible but Vincent can see a hint of tension around his mouth before he turns so quickly his cape flares and then he's back to the saddle as quick as he dismounted.

"V," the man says, like a warning, like a promise.

Vincent gives in a little, folds his arms and lifts his chin enough so that D can see his eyes past the brim of his hat. "D," he answers; an agreement.

D waits another split of a second to take him in – and then he grabs the reins and he's gone, riding out at quick, harsh pace. He doesn't look back and Vincent lets his eyes follow, taking in all the information he can. His posture reminds Vincent a little of Cloud, how he'd been after decade of so of chocobo racing. Tight and controlled, leaning in just so – moving to the pace of his mount. Definitely a habitual rider.

 _This one has a better ass, though_ , Hellmasker comments and Vincent's expression falls a little. Thankfully D is already out of view – he is nowhere near enough to see Vincent closing his eyes in private exasperation. Hellmasker cackles at him, feeling his embarrassment. _Nice and meaty._

Sometimes Vincent wishes he hadn't gotten to know his inner demons quite so well.

"What the hell was that?" Kyle asks, as the Vigilance Committee members stare in the distance where D had vanished to, looking both relieved and dismayed by the dhampir's exit. "Oi, medicine seller – you know that guy?"

That, unfortunately, draws the Vigilance Committee members' attention to Vincent – and to his face, his eyes. "It's another dhampir!" someone shouts and then the guns are aimed at him in turn.

Vincent glances at the committee members.

"Hands where I can see them!" the man with the badge demands and Vincent contemplates just ignoring him – but unlike D, he doesn't have a smooth exit in hand, nothing aside from Chaos' wings and he's not keen on using them in populated area.

He lifts his hand – the phial of Elixir still in his right hand – and of course that draws people's attention. "What's that?" the man with the badge demands. "Hand it over."

"Hold on there now, Sheriff," Borgoff says sharply. "We were about to buy that."

"We don't allow no dhampirs to do business here," the badge wearing man says and glances at them. Vincent watches him idly, watching him noticing the obvious tension and interest on the Marcus brother's faces, and then the Sheriff turns back Vincent. "I'm confiscating that – hand it over. And your piece there, that too."

There are roughly eight guns aimed at Vincent, three pistols and five rifles. He's not yet seen weapons of this place fire, but judging by the design, they don't fire bullets – most of them seem to have power sources in places of magazines. Some sort of energy weapons then, tazers or lasers, whichever. Chances are they're all faster than his spell casting, anyway.

And then the Marcus brothers are aiming _their_ guns at the Vigilance Committee. "I don't think so," Borgoff says and cranes his head a little. "Heya there Leila."

"Borgoff," a woman's voice says and behind the Vigilance committee there is a woman in red, skin-tight body suit – holding a hefty looking handgun at the Vigilance Committee. "Quite the gathering you have here. What's up?"

"Well, you know how it goes. You have a little fun – and all of sudden everyone has a gun," Borgoff says, aiming what looks like high tech crossbow at the Sheriff and glances at Vincent. "Name your price, V. I want that phial."

Vincent glances at him and then looks down the road, where D had disappeared. "Any chance you're going that way?" he asks.

"Actually – yeah. We're going right after that guy," Borgoff says.

"We're working on the same damn job as he is," Kyle scoffs, idly spinning a blade in hand.

Vincent's eyes narrow. That sounds promising. "Give me passage and the elixir is yours."

Borgoff grins. "Done," he says and then looks at the sheriff. "Hold your horses there, big guy – we're going. Kyle, get Grove back in the car."

"Right," Kyle says and swings his blade down, and back to its sheath. He turns to the withered young man and then, gently, hoists him up to his arm in bridal carry. "Let's go little brother," he says while Grove sighs, and then they're back to the armoured truck.

"Leila," Borgoff says.

"Mm-hmm," the woman says, walking slowly around the tense Vigilance Committee, keeping the gun aimed squarely at the sheriff. She glances at Vincent's way and arches an eyebrow. "Another dhampir? Small world."

"That's what I said," Borgoff agrees and holds out his hand towards Leila "Give me that and go take the wheel – I'll be on top. V," he glances at Vincent and nods to the tank. "No funny business now."

"Mm," Vincent answers and then, casting a glance at the vigilance committee before quickly heading inside. Leila follows close behind him after handing her gun to Borgoff, pushing past him and heading quickly to the front of the truck, where the controls are, while Borgoff slams the door shut behind them.

The tank is surprisingly spacious inside, not nearly as crammed full as Vincent had expected. There's cabinets build tightly into the walls and just enough space to freely move around – there is also a bed, where Kyle is setting Grove down gently on thick mattress.

"So, what's going on?" Leila asks from the front, as she hits few switches and the truck hums to life around them. "Who's that guy? And why was Grove out?"

"This guy," Kyle says, motioning at Vincent who is still examining the interior, "sold us some actually effective psi meds."

"No shit?"

"No shit," Kyle says and glances up at Vincent. "The phial?"

Vincent hands the Elixir over without a word and then quickly braces himself against the wall as the truck jerks into movement. It takes him a moment to find a window with actual view outside – and then he watches with interest how the truck swerves around and accelerates at impressive rate. The buildings just flash by outside and soon are left behind as they drive out of town.

"So, you knew that guy or not?" Kyle asks as he sits beside Grove on the withered young man's bed. "And is your name _really_ V, or were you just fucking with him?"

Vincent doesn't answer, looking out of the window and letting the whole meeting unpack in his head. And there is a lot to unpack there, for all that encounter had given away about as much as blank wall.

 _D_ , he thinks, and his fingers clench a little.

"Fine, whatever, fuck if I care," Kyle mutters and eyes the phial. "This had better be effective."

"You might want to wait until we stop somewhere," Vincent says without looking down.

"Why – it got side effects?"

"Not usually," Vincent says. "But your brother is at bad state."

Kyle hesitates and looks at Grove who sighs and nods. "Fine," he says and puts the phial away, to a near by drawer which seems to hold medicine mostly. "Once we stop."

* * *

 

It's a while before they stop. Borgoff swings down into the cabin after a while, once they've gotten past the walls and into the wilds. "Now's the question which way they're heading," Borgoff says while he switches with Leila to take the wheel. "I don't think they're heading for Abrol, just doesn't feel right."

"Grenerge Mountains then?" Leila asks, while turning to face Vincent. She has her gun back, and it's no subtly held down, at angle which would make it very easy to aim the thing at Vincent. "So what's his story then? And since when are we giving dhampirs passage?"

"Since they start offering full psi recovery for pennies," Borgoff says and glances over his shoulder at Vincent. "We're not giving you free passage, mind you – the first time we run into D, you're out."

Vincent arches an eyebrow at him.

"I mean that's what you want, right – to get to that guy?" Borgoff asks. "Like Kyle said, we're working on the same job as him – we're bound to run into him eventually. When we do, you're on your own."

"Fine," Vincent agrees.

"Full psi recovery?" Leila asks, glancing at Grove. Her eyes narrow a little, taking in his tired face and the weary smile. "Grove?"

"I had one of his concoctions that Kyle bought earlier," Grove says. "It was... incredible."

Vincent folds his arms, looking at Grove. "Like what?" he asks.

Grove frowns, looking up at him. "You don't know?"

"It's different," Vincent says. All tinctures like Ethers and Elixirs were made in part from Gaia's Lifestream – and Vincent has a large chunk of that same Lifestream flowing in his veins. To him taking any Lifestream based potions is... natural.

Grove isn't like him, though – he's never felt the touch of Lifestream, never tasted it like Vincent has all his life.

The young man draws a slow breath and releases it slowly. "It was like drinking warmth," he says, in tones of weary awe. "Or light. It felt like... something warm, pooling inside me, filling me up."

Vincent frowns a little at him. Then, curious, he fires up the Sense materia again, and scans Grove a second time.

The information he gets is roughly the same. Sense of void, empty well, power and light and air and bursts of near glee. With little bit of concentration, Vincent gets the sense of absence too, or maybe lost potential.

In Gaia, this young man would easily be level eighty at least. The use of his power, whatever that power is, has stretched out his limits, made him strong – without giving him strength. Though his mana pool is vast now... it's never been full, probably.

Vincent frowns a little, looking down at him while the young man peers up at him curiously. "How do you do that?" Grove asks. "That examination you do. It doesn't wear you out?"

"It doesn't use much power," Vincent answers and looks him up and down. "You need to prepare yourself for that potion. From what I can tell, you've never been at full power, have you?"

Grove frowns. "When I was younger –"

"When you were younger, your reserves were smaller. They've expanded as you've used your power," Vincent says. "It's gotten stronger as you've used it, hasn't it?"

Grove leans his head back, inhaling slowly. "Yes," he agrees tiredly. "And each time the duration gets shorter."

Vincent nods – it makes sense. Increasing mana drain with smaller and smaller reserves... it's a very dangerous combination. "From what I can tell, your reserves might be as much as ten times larger than you expect. The change is likely to be drastic."

"Is it going to be dangerous?" Kyle demands.

Vincent doesn't answer.

Grove narrows his eyes at Vincent. "You've taken that concoction yourself, haven't you?"

"These potions were designed for people like me," Vincent says and shakes his head. "You are different. And you need to decide for yourself if the risk is worth it."

Grove swallows and then looks up at the ceiling, lifting a hand to rub at his chest. Even through all the layers of his clothing, Vincent call tell how pronounced his rib cage is. "I want it," he says then and tilts his head to loo at the front of truck. "Borgoff, I want to take the phial."

There is a tense silence for a moment, as Kyle and Leila exchange worried looks at Borgoff concentrates silently on the driving. "We'll stop at Lavaet," Borgoff says then. "The ruins will be flooded this time of the year and we need to refill the water tank. You can take the thing there."

Grove sighs and relaxes on his bed, almost sinking into the mattress. Tension of the decision drains off him now that he's made up his mind and had it approved, it looks like. Vincent looks down on him, and feels a strange sense of déjà vu – even though he's never met someone like this young man.

In Gaia, it was nearly impossible for people to get this point with simple lack of mana – the natural laws just didn't permit it on normal conditions. There'd been time, though... when those laws had been tampered with, when their boundaries had been experimented on.

For a moment Vincent wonders if maybe Hojo had done experiments like that on him. It would make sense – the reason for the demonic research had had to do with mana, and the limitations of its expenditure. Hojo had been trying to create conditions where mana replenished without need of potions, without need of rest – if it had worked, Sephiroth too most likely would've had _guests_ in his head.

 _Guests, hah,_ Chaos mutters.

It hadn't worked though, not really.

All of this makes Vincent really wonder about D, though. Because his mana pool – or rather his two mana pools – had both been pretty much full. Could be that the man doesn't use them much, didn't rely on those abilities like Grove obviously does, but... it is  still curious. Someone that old, that powerful, with that much mana in a world where it doesn't replenish naturally and where mana potions are rare...

Vincent looks away from Grove, to the other Marcus brothers. Leila still has a gun in her hand, and is still looking at him with suspicion. Kyle has turned to put away their purchases, loading ration packets into cabinets. Borgoff is steering, unlit cigar in his teeth.

"So, a dhampir doctor?" Leila asks. "Now I've heard everything. I guess that's convenient. Easy to get blood, and all."

Vincent eyes her curiously. She _loathes_ him. Or rather what he is or is supposed to be anyway. "I'm not a doctor," Vincent says and takes a seat on protrusion coming off the wall – judging by the feel of it, it's directly over the tires.

"Yeah, who'd want a dhampir for a doctor?" Leila says and motions at him with her gun. "You're peddling Noble medicine, then? Where'd you get that stuff?"

Vincent really wishes he could have an easy, non-suspicious way to ask what these people mean by _Noble tech_ and _Noble medicine_. It's come up several times and everyone always nods like they know exactly what it means, so it must be universally known knowledge.

Leila narrows her eyes. "Answer me, _dhampir_."

Vincent gives her a look. She's trying to stare him down – after D's intensity, it's almost amusing how ineffective her demand is. She's letting her passions, her anger, get better of her and its giving away more information than she probably even realizes. The very personal grudge, the hurt, the confusion, the simmering loathing... it's all there.

Vincent turns away, ignoring her seething, and lets his thoughts turn back to D, back to his cool, impassive face. There's a design and intent to D's behaviours and gestures, as few as they had been, and Vincent knows them well – and it's strangely enthralling, to have come face to face with a facade so very much like his own.

And maybe it's all the demons inside him, but Vincent has a burning desire to put a mark on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh.


	6. Chapter 6

Lavaet isn't much like anything Vincent has seen before. Gaia had ruins too, of course – but they were either ruins of ShinRa or the Ancient Ruins, the first of which were ruins of rusting iron and concrete, and the second of which were so alien by design that it was hard to even label them as ruins – most of the time they looked like natural formations, than something man made. Lavaet, though, the ruins of Lavaet are clearly man made – and judging by the looks of them, thousands of years old.

Vincent steps out of the shelter of the Marco brother's tank and looks around with interest. He can see why people kept mentioning the place, why it being flooded was so remarkable. It was beautiful. Built into a valley, it was over grown with greenery, wines crawling up pillars and other remaining structures, and crystal clear still water made the floor, like the whole place was build on a mirror.

"Oi, Borgoff," Kyle calls into the tank, he also out and looking about. "Hand me the binoculars, will you? I think I see something."

Vincent also saw something – on the other end of the valley, where the structures were somewhat better preserved, with walk ways and stone pavilions still standing there. There, where the earth rose above the water level... there was a familiar looking trailer, black metal with silver accents.

"Shit," Kyle says, peering at the thing through the binoculars. "We did not get this lucky."

"We didn't," Borgoff says, also stepping out of the tank, Leila close behind him. "Lavaet the last place with clean water before crossing the Grenerge range, and they got horses. It was pretty safe bet that if they were heading up there, they'd stop here."

Vincent peers at the carriage, wondering. These people being vampire hunters, and by all appearances hunting this carriage, that explained the nature of the white haired man. Well, now he has an answer as to what Vampire is, at least on the surface level – it's an _other_ thing.

"I say we go there and ambush them," Leila says, pulling on a pair of goggles and pressing at small buttons on their side. Light flashes on their surface and she narrows her eyes. "They've got the horses detached – they're not going anywhere. If we go at them now, they won't be able to escape."

"Hmm," Borgoff answers, frowning. "They got guards from Barbarois – and if you're ambushing a Barbarois, you don't want to do it half asses. As it is – they were here first and who knows how long they've been waiting here."

Vincent glances at him. Guards from Barbarois?

"You think they got ambush waiting for us?" Leila asks.

"I'd like to be the first to get the lay of the land, is all."

"Fuck – I see that asshole too," Kyle says. "He really beat us to it."

Vincent's eyes slide to Kyle and then follow the direction his binoculars are pointing. It takes some concentration – his eyesight is good, but it's not exactly equivalent to mechanical zoom – but he sees him. D is a streak of darkness in the otherwise sunlit ruins.

"Shit, it's the girl," Leila says, and then she's heading forward, jumping from the piece of land they've stopped on and to nearest rock protruding from the mirror clear waters. Then she's off, towards something she'd spotted before them.

And there it is, a young woman in long dark cloak, slowly walking the ruins – walking slowly, almost aimlessly, towards D.

Vincent blinks to clear the awkward tunnel vision concentrating on distances human eyes aren't supposed to have clear view on and then looks at Borgoff, who's cursing now.

"Shit, Leila," Borgoff says. "Kyle," he says.

"I'm on it," Kyle says and quickly jumps after Leila, racing towards her, towards the strange girl – towards D.

"You're rivals on this job, then," Vincent says. "And the job is the girl."

"She got kidnapped by a vampire – we were hired to retrieve her," Borgoff says, grimacing as he goes to get his weapon. "Lot of money for whoever brings her back."

"Hm," Vincent hums. "I see."

"Listen, man, I appreciate the medicine, but this is business," Borgoff says, turning to him. "Get out of here and don't get in our way, or we will kill you."

Vincent looks at him and then glances at the tank. "I would like to see Grove take the medicine before I go," he says. "If there are complications, I might be able to help."

Borgoff hesitates, looking between Leila and Kyle and then the tank. Vincent looks their way – or rather, D's way. But one thing at a time, and he rather doubts that man of D's level would be in much danger here. D could wait – Grove might very well die at first sip.

"I guess it's bad business if your customers just croak because of your merchandise," Borgoff mutters and narrows his eyes. Then he shakes his head. "Leila and Kyle," he says, hitting his headset. "Watch yourselves – you'll be without backup for a bit. We're giving Grove the meds."

"Roger that," Kyle's voice pipes in, almost too quiet for even Vincent's hearing to pick up, from Borgoff's head set.

"If something goes wrong, I'll kill V," Leila says. "Tell him that."

"Hm," Borgoff answers, and doesn't tell Vincent what she said. He hoists his crossbow up instead and nods to the tank. "Go on then."

While Borgoff hovers by the door way, keeping half an eye outside and half an eye inside, Vincent goes to Grove. The young man peers up at him while Vincent gets the Elixir from the drawer Kyle had hidden it in.

"You're a strange dhampir," Grove says wearily while Vincent considers him and then sits on the side of his bed, next to Grove's withered, unhealthily thin waist. "You really care, don't you?"

Vincent doesn't answer, considering his inventory. If grove dies, he has Phoenix Downs – and better yet, he has his Master Magic materia and within it a fully mastered Revive. Should Grove's body go into convulsions and his heart stop, Vincent could revive him.

"The heart monitor," Vincent says, and with a sigh Grove reaches over his head to get the monitor. He places the sensor onto his neck just above his pulse point, and the slightly unsteady beep of his heart beating fills the cabin. Vincent listens to it for a moment, and then he fires up the Sense within the Master Command materia, uncaps the phial.

Grove drinks it without hesitation – and then he gags.

The _flush_ of power through Grove is fascinating in the Sense's strange, peripheral awareness. Vincent feels his reserves fill and fill and finally cap at full – it's like watching a small, barely visible star suddenly going super nova right in front of him. Better yet, Vincent can feel the power radiating from Grove's weary form, lighting him up from the inside.

That's just the mana and as impressive as that is, it has nothing on the physical change – Elixir restores mana and health fully, after all. And like his mana, his health goes to the maximum too – and his body with it.

Grove groans in discomfort, as the elixir runs its course. Vincent almost wishes they'd stripped him of all of his clothes first; the change must've been fascinating to witness without hindrances. Even through the clothes, he can see the young man's hollow belly filling out as his insides heal, he can see his muscles bulging out, past their withered, atrophied state and to something he might've been before the power usage had drained his health nearly dry. His veins momentary bulge on his skin's surface, stretched tight on the growing muscles and beating hard and fierce as new strength fills his system – and then Grove's thin skin thickens, the epidermis layers strengthening and filling out to healthier proportions.

All the while the heart monitor is going wild, beating double pace to keep up with the changes. Vincent has a feeling Grove's heart would give out, if it wasn't for the nature of the elixir. It heals everything – inside and out, heart and blood included. And as rough as the transformation is, Grove's body or his heart can't give up – the elixir doesn't allow it. He can't even pass out.

Vincent fires up the Sense again, while Grove pants for desperate breaths through clenched teeth. At full health and full mana, Grove is bit of a monster. Whatever the power he has is, Vincent decides there and there that he would never try to fight the guy.

 Grove inhales and shakily exhales. "That was –" he says, his voice trembling. "W-what was that?"

"A full recovery," Vincent says and watches as the young man lifts a hand, previously thin like a skeleton's, now restored to full health and firmness. "Body and mind."

"Holy shit," Borgoff whispers, staring at his brother wide eyed. "Holy shit – holy shit. H-holy shit."

"That's... impossible," Grove says and looks up at Vincent. "This is not possible."

Vincent shakes his head and stands up. "I recommend you don't waste it," he says. "I doubt you will get another chance like this."

Grove stares up at him and then glances at the heart monitor – still beating hard, but steady, and strong. Slowly he sits up, and then tugs at his scarves and clothes, to get a look at himself. "Oh," he says and looks up again. "I'm... _oh_."

"Holy shit," Borgoff says again, torn between staying guard at the door and going to his brother. Latter wins and as Vincent steps aside he rushes to Grove's side. "Grove, how do you – how are you feeling, man?"

"I – don't... feel like anything," Grove whispers and pats at his chest, his stomach, both filled out and healthy. "I'm – hot," he then says and tugs the scarves off. "I'm not cold. Borgoff – it's not cold anymore – and I – I don't –"

Vincent bows his head and quietly exits the tank as Grove breaks down to overwhelmed tears.

Outside, they are fighting.

Vincent looks out just in time to see a flash of green attacking Leila and Kyle while D rushes towards them – Leila is flung to the air by tendril of green and then thrown against a pillar of crumbling stone, Kyle shouting after her as D jumps and attacks the flash of green. In the mean while, a man appears to snatch up the girl in long cloak, the target of the vampire hunter's job, and take her away.

Vincent recognizes Caroline just as D slashes out with his long, slightly arched sword blade, and cuts apart the arch of stone she'd been standing on. Just as fast here as she'd been in the Barbarois village, Caroline dashes away with D making chase.

The fight is none of Vincent's business. The Marcus clan, though customers, aren't his friends. With the issue of Grove over with, he has no interest in them. D is... whatever he is, but Vincent doesn't know him. There is no reason to get involved in something he doesn't fully understand and has no vested interest in. He has no chocobo in this race.

He gets involved anyway.

"Leila," Kyle shouts and then dives into the water after her – moment later they both breach the surface and Leila flails her arms angrily.

"What are you doing, you idiot, go after them!" she shouts even as she chokes on water.

On the patch of ground where the black trailer is, the – horses? – are hooked up on the trailer again and while the man who'd dashed away with the kidnapped girl eases her back into the carriage, they are already setting out. Kyle and Leila look their way, cursing, and while Kyle heads, too late, after the carriage, Leila heads after D.

Vincent does the same, jumping over the protruding rocks and pillars and bits of wall, keeping clear of the water.

"Hey, you," Leila shouts at him from below, where she's racing the water's surface. "What are you doing – get out of here! You'll just get in the way and then I'll have to kill you too!"

Chaos laughs and Vincent ignores her, taking few running steps on the edge of a crumbling wall and then launching himself over the water and finally over the last of the valley. Caroline and D had headed to the forest – or rather, Caroline had led D to the forest, and Vincent can guess why.

Already he can see the spikes and tendrils of wood she's left behind, in her battle against D. Wood would have higher tensile structure than stone and harder structure than water – if she can take the form of water – so it's smart, luring D into the forest. Not so smart on D's part, to chase after her – but maybe he didn't know about her abilities.

There – Vincent finds them more by the feel their radiate, rather than by sound or sight. D is a beacon of _dark, cold power_ in the forest and Caroline feels like a demon, illusive and changeable, but very recognizable when you knew what you were looking for. They're battling it out, D cutting apart everything Caroline lashes out at him, leaving trails of wooden spikes everywhere.

Her range and control over the elements she inhabits seems to have limits, though. She's sunken waist deep into one ancient looking tree, its trunk thicker than the Marcus brother's truck – and it is the only tree she can send spikes out from. It also seems to weaken the tree – as Vincent approaches them, he can see the ancient tree's trunk thinning as she lashes out with its wood, making it weaker overall.

Eventually the tree gets so thin than D can cut it with a single swipe of his long sword, sending the whole thing falling – and forcing Caroline to find a new wooden shelter in the forest.

Something is wrong, though – D is faltering, his breathing is choked. Something is wearing him out. Had Caroline done something to him? Some power she hadn't used on Vincent?

No – Caroline has just noticed it too, and her expression is turning delighted at the display of weakness. "What a nice day it is, isn't it, dhampir?" she asks, soft and cutting. "Bright and _sunny_."

Then she launches attack of several dozen wooden spikes – and D doesn't cut them, lunging away from them instead in a roll, just barely avoiding them. Vincent stands on a tree branch, watching D escape an attack he should've been able to easily defeat, rolling down a hill and out of view – and that's when Caroline spots him.

"Oh," she says, noticing him. "Oh, _hello,_ now this is a surprise. I didn't notice you there," she says, her body arching as she turns to him, all but forgetting about D. "Oh, darling, what have you done to yourself – I can't feel you at all."

Vincent says nothing, glancing the way D had gone. D's presence is fluctuating, waning – something is weakening him. But what? It wasn't Caroline, she'd been surprised by it too. What then?

"Hmm? Oh, do you know the dhampir?" Caroline asks and smiles, stepping out of the tree trunk. "Wonderful creatures, dhampirs. So strong – but only to a point."

Vincent narrows his eyes.

Caroline smiles. "Ah, you don't know, do you? Poor darling, you don't know anything at all. Go on, ask me," she says and rests a hand on her hip. "I'll tell you – for a price."

"I'm under the impression you have a job to do," Vincent comments. "Your job is getting away."

Her expression falters a little and she glances away. "Well," she says then, frowning. "I suppose you're right. But the only reason I took the job is because I was hoping to run into you again. You left in such hurry, dear. I was so –"

A knife flies at her and embeds itself on her temple, the sharp point peeking out on the other side of her head. Vincent arches his eyebrows as Caroline blinks with surprise and they both turn to look. It's Leila.

"Oh, for fucks' sake," Leila says and aims her hand gun at them.

The blast radius of the _force_ launched from her weapon is impressive – it gouges out chunks of the trees it hits, leaving a circular hole of destruction in its wake. Caroline hisses and sinks back into the tree, the knife embedded in her head clattering down the tree and to the ground where Leila picks it up again, even as she shoots another hole into the tree Caroline had sank to.

Vincent drops to the ground and gets a gun in his face. "You!" Leila says. "Who the fuck are you and how do you know these people?"

"It's an unfortunate passing acquaintance," Vincent says, watching her gun. It launches a sonic pulse of some kind from what he'd seen. His defence might be good enough to stand it, but he's not particularly eager to chance it.

Caroline chuckles from, the tree tops. "Now now, darling, no need to be shy about it," she laughs. "I'm the reason you're here, aren't I?"

"No, you aren't," Vincent says, reaching for Cerberus at his side while Leila casts a look at him, her gun faltering a little.

"Oh _yes_ , I am" Caroline laughs and her face peeks out from another tree. "We summoned you for _me_ , my dear demon lord. Oh I'm suppose he didn't tell you, did he, little girl – he's a greater demon under all that beauty! Straight from the pits from hell. Now, darling, be a good man and step aside so that I can kill that little –"

Leila shoots her in the face the exact same time Vincent does the same, and so whatever distraction Caroline had hoped to gain with her little spiel ended up doing the opposite, and distracting her in turn. And maybe Vincent's bullets were no use against Caroline, maybe Leila's pulse gun didn't do enough damage – but at the same time...

Leila's sonic blast was slower than Vincent's bullet, but she shot first – and when the bullet blasted though the sonic wave, it shattered. Caroline's face was thus embedded not with a single shot, but rain of thin, hot shrapnel that tears into it just before the sonic blast itself hits her full on, and tears right through her wooden form.

Vincent and Leila wait for a moment, just in case. There's a circular hole in the tree where Caroline had just been, and as they watch the tree groans under his own weight and wood shatters in terrible bangs before it starts coming done, fast – and directly at them.

By silent decision Vincent runs one way – and Leila the other.

"If I see you again, _demon lord_ , I'll fucking kill you!" Leila shouts at him over the noise of the tree falling between them

Vincent just chuckles at her and then heads away. He can hear Leila's distant voice as she talks to the other vampire hunters through her headset, complaining about him judging by the looks of it, but ignores it in favour of finding where D had disappeared.

He's not that hard to find, turns out. First Vincent follows the trail of wooden spikes Caroline had left behind until he find the indention in the moss and grass where D had gotten off their line of fire, and then he follows the tracks the dhampir by the awkward tracks he'd left – D had been forced to crawl away.

Vincent finds him half unconscious in the shadow of one ancient tree, in the hollow space created by its roots. The darkest shadow available, Vincent notes and frowns. D is leaning heavily on his sword and he's been... trying to dig?

The look the dhampir gives him is exhausted and bitterly annoyed.

"Aw great," a voice mutters, and it doesn't come from D's mouth. "Just when I was thinking things couldn't get any wor-" D's fingers clench on the sword grip and the voice is cuts on in grind of skin on metal.

"What on earth are you doing?" Vincent asks flatly. D just glares at him wordlessly, so with a shake of his head Vincent just hits him with Sense and – _ah_.

The sensation is strange, the lack of hard data is still throwing Vincent off a bit – but if he had to put it into words, he'd say that D is under a status ailment. Some sort of weakness – it has sense of heat and light, overwhelming and suppressing. Sunstroke, hyperthermia? Whatever the correct term is, D is actually weak to sunlight.

That is... a little unexpected and _very_ fascinating.

"V," D grinds out through clenched teeth, barely audible. With him on his knees and weak with sun, it's not very threatening – but there is a very real warning in it.

Vincent crouches by him, watching his tense face. "What do you need?"

D's throat works silently for a moment as he stares at Vincent. "Bury me," he then says, the words all but forced through out some invisible barrier. Vincent almost feels it, how much he hates being so weak in front of him.

 _Mmmm,_  someone, multiple someones even, purr in Vincent's mind, and part of Vincent agrees with them wholeheartedly. It makes him wonder if this is something like what Sephiroth and Cloud felt every time they fought. This visceral, almost sadistic delight.

It's glorious seeing someone so strong on their knees.

Then what little of D's strength is left gives out and his hands slip on the sword grip. Vincent catches him with one arm around his chest and looks down, at the hair spilling over D's now loose shoulders, at the skin of his neck, peeking out from under it. It's close enough that Vincent could press his lips to it, if he wanted to.

"Don't even _think about it_ ," the voice from before grumbles and thought D is completely limb against Vincent his hand still twitches, turning – facing him. "D might be out, but I'm still here, and if you try anything at all –"

There's a _face_ on D's hand. That would be the second life sign, then.

"Don't worry," Vincent says and takes D's wrist, lifting the hand, looking at it with interest. D has big hands, strong fingers – but in his golden gauntlet, it they look enticingly delicate. His nails are long - and well maintained, Vincent notes with interest. "I would never."

"Yeah, right," the face in D's hand mutters, peering up at him suspiciously. "Are you going to bury him or not?"

"Mm," Vincent agrees, winding an arm around D's waist to haul him in a better position. The feel of it is distracting – D is very nearly shapely, and the skin-tight body suit does precisely nothing to hide the contours of his waist and hips.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" D's hand demands warily.

"I'm utterly enthralled," Vincent agrees flatly, and then gets to the business of burying D under a layer of dirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Insert all the "V wants the D" jokes here.


	7. Chapter 7

It starts to rain. It's a little strange, how it happens – they go from perfectly sunny to outright pouring, with water coming down like from a shower head, heavy and strong. Vincent peers out at it from under the roots of the tree where D had decided to shelter. Thankfully that they're bit higher up – the water pours off the tree and off them, the awkward shelter keeping them dry.

D sleeps – or rather, he's unconscious or maybe hibernating, it's hard to tell. His heart beat has slowed down drastically and under the Sense he feels slow and sluggish, still strong but lagging somehow. Whatever the sun did to him, it definitely took a toll on his system.

Vincent, however, is very good at waiting – and as it is, a break to process all he's learned is welcome. Things had been coming at him rather fast since the village; there hadn't been really time to go over it all.

He still doesn't have enough facts for a clear view of this world – no idea about its government or political situation... but he knows the overall image now. A world with monsters roaming the wild and settlements wrapped in heavily guarded walls is not a peaceful world – not a world with dedicated armies, keeping the peace. The roads they'd taken when he'd been with the Marcus clan had been all dirt roads, hard packed by age and use but hardly maintained – so, there's no proper infrastructure for road maintenance at least in this area. Not many people travelling, probably, what with all the monsters and such.

It makes the hostility of the Vigilance Committee and the Sheriff of the settlement make more sense. Closed community behind its walls – they probably survived by their paranoia and suspicion and willingness to chase anything that might threaten them out. Speaking of which, vampires – and dhampirs.

Vincent is still not sure what, exactly, the threat there is, but it seems universal and universally hated and feared. The white haired man from the carriage was a vampire, and now that he knows that term carries such significance, Vincent rather wishes he could've gotten a Sense in. It probably would've led into trouble, but... at least he would've known a little more.

Blood, apparently, has something to do with the whole thing. Dhampirs at least needed blood for something, according to Leila's comments. Vincent has a feeling it might be for consumption.

It's not much to go on yet, though.

Looking out to the rain for a moment, Vincent turns his attention to D, his face cold in his... rest. Vincent hadn't exactly shied from looking before, but now he takes in the man's features with time. D's skin is white. Not just pale – white like paper, utterly colourless. Almost grey now, with the overcast and lack of proper light. It makes his dark eyelashes seem even darker – and longer too, Vincent notes with some amusement. D has eyes lot of women would kill for.

"What are you looking at?"

Vincent looks down at D's hand, resting just above the layer of dirt Vincent had covered D in. It's peering up at him with its not-quite-eyes, making faces.

"At his face," Vincent answers wryly.

"Well, stop it. It's creepy," the hand mutters.

Vincent lifts his knee up, leaning his elbow on it. "I don't think so," he answers, smiling a little at the _tch_ sound the hand makes. "You seem pretty talkative, considering you're attached to man like him."

The face says nothing for a moment, peering at him suspiciously. "You seem talkative now that he's unconscious."

Vincent leans his cheek onto his knuckles. "I have the upper hand," he says. "I can afford it now."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Vincent doesn't answer, casting a look at D's face, still a little tense, a little lax. "Why does sun weaken him?"

Now the face in D's hand blinks at him – or what passes as blinking for a thing with no actual eyeballs. "You don't know?" it asks and them harrumphs when Vincent doesn't answer. "Well if you don't know, I'm not going to tell you."

"How... juvenile of you."

"Hey, you're the enemy," the hand says. "Who shares weaknesses with enemies?"

"I helped," Vincent points out.

"That doesn't make you less of a threat, _V_ ," the hand spits at him and then squints at him with distrust. "What are you?" it asks then. "You're not a dhampir, that's for damn certain. That Barbarois called you a demon lord – you sure as hell don't feel like one. Or look like one, for that matter."

Vincent smiles a little at that through his fingers. How much of an advantage it is to him, to have D and his attachment still guessing at his nature, he isn't sure, but he'll take it. "What are you?" he asks instead of answering.

"Tch, wouldn't you like to know," the hand answers and after a last suspicious look at him, it withdraws again, sinking into D's hand, leaving behind a normal palm. Vincent eyes it for a moment, still smiling faintly, and then turns his eyes back to D.

Still asleep – and still very easy on the eyes.

 _You could do something about it,_ Chaos hums in the back of his head. _He's just there, helpless, you could just...._

 _Take a bite,_ Galian Beast snarls. _Bite him, bite him, BITE HIM._

Vincent closes his eyes for a moment, taking a breath to swallow down their desires and urges as their bubble to surface. Then he looks at D's face again, considering.

D is indeed just there, unconscious and close to helpless. Vincent could do just about anything he wanted to and there would be little D could do about it. Hell, D and his attachment are probably even expecting it.

But what, he wonders, would that make him?

 _It's always better with a little fight,_ Hellmasker murmurs greedily as Vincent turns away. _With a little bit of... struggle..._

* * *

 

In total, D sleeps for nearly four hours. Vincent watches him for most of it, but after a while he turns his attention outside, and then, when that gets tiresome, he starts to tally his inventory. Considering the value of his recovery items in this world, knowing the number he has of them... could come in handy.

He has only one regular Ether left and just two regular Potions, but that's fine, he never really even uses them on himself. Four Hi-Potions, twelve X-Potions and eight Turbo-Ethers, not as many as he'd like.

Mostly he has Elixirs, though. At his levels, it is simply easier to carry around a full recovery items than to bother with potions that only recover a specific amount – if not for any other reason, then because it saves space. He has twenty eight Elixirs left. Not half bad, considering the likely prices he could demand for them if he chose to sell them.

Still, if he's now stuck in this world indefinitely...

He also has five Mega Elixirs – but how those would work in this world, he has no idea. It doesn't seem like this world has the sort of _party_ connections that people could build in Gaia.

Four packets of Remedy pills, each with thirty pills. Eight Phoenix Downs. With the Master Materia he's long since stopped bothering with support items – there's not much he can't cover with magic, after all. He does have one Hero Drink, though.

He doesn't have nearly as much ammo as he'd like. Four full packets, one opened package with handful removed and that's on Cerberus, a little under five hundred bullets. Seems lot, but the likelihood of him finding an ammo store with bullets Cerberus takes in this world...

Taking out one of the bullets from opened package, Vincent considers it. It's been a while since he's done weapons customization, but if he found – or made – the right equipment and found the right materials, there is a chance he could make his own ammunition. There is at least gunpowder in this world, that he knows for sure.

There's a sigh and Vincent's eyes quickly switch over to D. The dhampir's face is relaxing from the minute tension as he comes to, falling somehow into even more impassive expression than before.

Then D's eyes slide open the most minimum amount he needs to see, and quickly his gaze finds Vincent.

Vincent says nothing, waiting on him.

D doesn't move, watching him without an expression. It seems the rest did him some good – he doesn't even look suspicious now. If it wasn't for the fact that he's still immobile under a quarter foot of dirt, Vincent would've said he's back to normal.

It's tempting to wait it out. D would have to move eventually – the man has a job to do, he can't exactly stay here forever, so all Vincent would have to do is wait and D would be forced to give even more ground eventually. At this point, though, it's starting to feel a bit like playing just for the sake of playing – and as much as Vincent enjoys it, there's more he wants than just the game.

He turns to put the bullet away again. D makes no sound, but Vincent can see him breathing a little deeper in the corner of his eye.

Still, now that he has the higher ground, it's hard to give it up.

"Because you're interesting," Vincent says.

It takes a while for D to answer. "... what?"

"Saving you the trouble of forcing yourself to ask, why," Vincent says and puts the bullet packets back into his satchel. "Why I helped you and why it's all I did; because you're interesting."

D's eyes narrow a little and then he looks away, above them, at the tree. "I see."

"The next question would be... now what?" Vincent says and glances at him.

D closes his eyes, just breathing for a moment. When his speaks, his voice is steady and without a tone. "I recover from sun sickness, get back to my job," he says and opens his eyes, looking at Vincent. "And you'll follow me."

It's not a question or order – just a statement.

Vincent allows it with a nod and then sits back and just watches how D bit by bit regains his strength. D closes his eyes for a while, slowly relaxing under the dirt. "You're not from this world, are you?"

Vincent leans his elbow onto his knee, tilting his head a bit. "You heard Caroline."

"You don't smell like human. You don't feel like demon," D says, his eyes still shut. "You're something else."

Vincent looks away, at the rain still pouring down. "I was human once. Something else, now," he agrees. "I don't think it's ever had a name. What's a dhampir?"

It's almost surprising how easy it to ask, now that they've started, now that the ground has evened a bit.

D inhales lowly and exhales slower. Then there is sound of earth shifting as he starts pushing himself up. It sounds like it takes effort, like his muscles aren't working properly. Vincent does him the courtesy of not looking, this once.

"A half vampire," D says and Vincent can feel his gaze. "A vampire is creature of the night, that drinks the blood of humans and lives forever. They used to rule this world for several millennia – not so much anymore. The Nobility."

Vincent swallows and can feel his eyelids flutter. That was – unexpected amount of freely given information. Strange how it sounds like – feels like...

He turns to look at D somewhat cautiously. The dhampir is slowly pulling himself out of the dirt and to lean against the side of the wall. D sighs and his arms give up under him, elbows bending as he leans his head back against the thick roots. Still weak, Vincent thinks, watching the dirt still pooling over D's lap and legs, how it covers his cape' hem.

"Vampires burn in sunlight," he says. "One of their few weaknesses. Dhampirs don't share it, exactly – but we're not immune to it, either."

Their eyes meet and Vincent feels a strange urge to go to him. There's barely seven feet worth of space in between them, and it seems a little too wide. "How long until you recover fully," Vincent asks.

"Another hour, maybe," D answers, lowering his head a little, watching Vincent through his eyelashes.

"Hmm," Vincent answers.

Then he gets up. D's eyes follow him steadily and his expression stays neutral as Vincent approaches him. The dhampir says nothing, he does nothing – doesn't move as much as a finger, as Vincent stands over him. And he stays quiet as Vincent kneels, and starts brushing the dirt off him, off his legs and shoes and cape.

If D minds it he doesn't show it, if he wants Vincent to stop he doesn't show that either. The lack of reaction isn't welcome, Vincent knows as much – but it isn't rejection either. D just watches, waiting.

Which one of them is giving ground and which is taking it, Vincent isn't entirely sure anymore. It feels a bit like they're both balancing on a cliff edge now, and if D knows what's on the bottom, Vincent doesn't know. He can't _tell_ what the other man is thinking at all.

It shouldn't be so exhilarating.

Vincent has always been good at reading people – but the problem is, he's even better at deluding himself into thinking that what he read matters. People could want lot of things – and then never act on them. Or they could think one thing, and then go for the exact opposite. Wants and personalities don't matter as much as what people act on, and how they act. What people are and what they do... it's easy to get those two things completely wrong.

D is interesting. Whether he is _interested_ though is a wholly different matter.

"V," the dhampir says as Vincent smoothes his hands, one covered in a gauntlet and other in a glove, over the man's thighs, brushing away the lingering soil.

"Hm?" Vincent answers, looking up.

D's eyes are cold and deep and very old. Abyss, Vincent had thought before – it seems even more accurate now, this close. That shouldn't be exhilarating either – an abyss isn't a safe thing to desire.

D lifts a hand, steadier now, and tugs at Vincent's cape collar, bringing it down enough to see his face. What he sees, Vincent can't tell – D's eyes reflect nothing, they just consume what they see.

"Interesting," D says, an echo of Vincent's earlier words.

"Very," Vincent agrees, leaning his weight just a little on his hands on D's long, strong thighs, enjoying the way it makes D's eyelashes twitch.

"... yes," D says, slow and deliberate. "It is."

They teeter on the abyss edge now, and the anticipation is a sweet sort of pain. Vincent leans in a little more and D's eyes narrow, and all it would take now is one move, one nudge to the right direction, and they'd be falling head long in and it would be _glorious_.

And D is definitely interested – interested enough to not push him away.

But he's not pulling him in, either.

Vincent watches him closely, feeling the desire swirl like a physical thing somewhere between them, so close and yet infinite inches apart. It's delicious... but there is something not quite wrong and yet not quite right here either. He can't quite put a finger to it yet, but – D's reaction is strange.

The moment stretches and the dhampir's eyes narrow a little – not in dismay or disgust, but confusion. Like he's expecting something and Vincent is not acting accordingly.

He's expecting Vincent to force it.

"Hm," Vincent says and then leans back. He can't tell whether it's another part of the game, D holding his ground and making Vincent do all the work... or if it's something simpler, something worse. It feels like resignation, though.

D is beautiful to look at, unnaturally so, and there is something utterly alluring about him that's hard to ignore – which Vincent isn't even trying to ignore. And he's old, very old. That old, that beautiful and forever young... How many people have thrown themselves at him over those long, long years? How many people have tried something worse? Whether successful or not...

It's been enough many to make his reaction cold and stiff and completely apathetic.

"A test?" D asks, his expression utterly frosty.

"No," Vincent says and looks away. "But the answer is still negative. Never mind."

He goes to get up, only to stop when D's hand, still on his collar, clenches down and keep him where he is. Vincent frowns a little and turns his eyes back to the dhampir, who eyes him, still without an expression on his face.

"What do you want, V?" D asks, his voice low.

"Nothing by force," Vincent answers, taking his hands off D's thighs and resting them on the dirt instead, not touching him.

It doesn't seem to be what D wanted to hear, definitely not what he was expecting. The dhampir's expression tightens a little, just a minuscule shift between his eyebrows, tiny narrowing of his eyes, but it's pronounced. "Why not," he says, a dare, an accusation – an insult. "I'm weak right now. It would be easy, wouldn't it?"

Vincent closes his eyes, his fingers and talons digging into the dirt. It's not much of a dare but it makes something _throb_ inside Vincent. It feels a bit like lust and lot like hatred, like demonic rage. It feels like loving a woman who lies and never meets his eyes, like lying dead on metal gurney while mad scientist dug around his insides.

Vincent had let down his guard and D had found his fault line, and is now staring right at it, as if looking for a way to dig in to that weakness, to plunge a blade right in it.

It makes Vincent's fingers twitch for a gun, makes his left hand claw at the ground in place of clawing at D – or at himself. Stupid, he thinks. He knew D was like him and still he'd forfeited the higher ground in order to, what; prove a point, to make a move? Idiotic, how utterly idiotic. He should have known better.

Vincent wipes his expression clean even though he wants to snarl and forces his body to relent its tension. He's given away too much already. D watches him without an expression, taking in the shift keenly. They're mere inches apart now, far too close, dangerously close. D's hand clenches on his collar and Vincent could pull away now – but that would mean giving in what high ground he has left and if this becomes a fight he will need every inch of it and –

D pulls him in.

The abyss edge is a lot sharper than Vincent expected; they tumble over it at record speed.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING smut ahead with barely negotiated kinks and stuff. Raised rating for this chapter.

  
If they decided now to fight, Vincent can imagine how it would go.

He, as ranged fighter, would search for an angle on D, try and get a higher vantage point. To get that, he'd try distraction by spells first, if he had the time. Possibly Hastes and Slows the tip the odds more to his favour, with heavy use of Shields and Barriers, maybe Confusion and Silence and Sleep if he managed to get them. Anything and anything, to slow D down.

D, likely, is too fast for all of it. At the man's levels he certainly would be at least resistant to most of it, and if Vincent could get a Status Ailment on him, he'd be severely disappointing. D, likely, would be able to duck the attacks, or at least avoid most their impact, and he'd make chase. At close range, he'd had advantage – sword had bigger damage arch than gun did, and Vincent already knows that demons at least have little to worry about bullets here. If D would've been taken down by one it would, again, be rather disappointing.

So, it would be a battle of spells from Vincent's side against D's sword – and whatever other abilities D has. So far Vincent has only seen him use his sword, but that's not reassuring in the least – Cloud had mainly used his swords too, but been at the same level as Vincent with magic, sometimes at higher level. It's hard to tell who would be stronger, D or Cloud, but it's enough to make Vincent very wary about chalking D off as merely a swordsman.

Vincent suspects he'd have to resort to summons, if he wanted to beat D – the stronger, faster summons at that. The Bahamuts, maybe even Knights of the Round. It would mean the destruction of the forest, perhaps the ruins themselves too, and it still might not be enough. Summon attacks, too, had their weaknesses – and worse yet, he hasn't tested them in this world yet. He doesn't know if they work the same.

Though Vincent thinks that he probably has more types of attacks on his side, he can't with perfect confidence say he'd win that battle. The level of strength the Sense displayed when he peered at D was a little too vast and little too _strange_ for him to make that bet. There is always an illusive, hidden depth to the man's well of power too. Like, perhaps, a hidden Limit Break – and knowing it's a possibility, Vincent is wary of it.

And of course, all of this is undercut by the problem of mana. Because, after all... if mana doesn't naturally replenish for the natives, it wouldn't for Vincent either. And though he has potions to mitigate the problem for now, he has a very limited amount of it, and no idea if more is a possibility.

In total, fighting D would be risky, costly, and Vincent cannot with any surety calculate his own chances of success. In short, not worth it.

Vincent wonders if D had ended up in similar end results when he'd weighed the costs and benefits as they teetered on the knife edge of the tension, so quickly built to the point of bursting.

That might be why.

* * *

 

Vincent doesn't move for the first kiss, let's D take it on his own terms, taking what information he can out of it. It's confident – D doesn't hesitate, doesn't ask for permission, doesn't stall... but it's also very shallow, almost chaste. Just a cool brush of lips against his, too slow to be a mere peck, but still too short to be truly intimate.

Neither of them closes their eyes, which threatens to drain the contact of all of its closeness and soft meaning and turn it into something colder and harder; a test of barriers and reactions, a mind game. It would be easy to tip that way and make this into a battle of minds but –

Vincent lost his life and humanity to mind games that used romance as their weapon. It had taken him long time to shake the shadows of those years and he'd sworn – never again.

He lifts a hand, waits only for enough to make sure the touch isn't unwelcome, and then runs his fingers down the clean line of D's jaw, tilting his head just slightly – and kissing him properly. D's eyes narrow, almost flutter, and then Vincent closes his eyes and he can't see anymore.

It's still very careful, very cautious. Maybe D had been expecting a mind game – maybe it had been a dare. It takes infinitely long – a second or two – before his lips part, before he answer's the challenge Vincent is issuing, before his hand on Vincent's collar shifts to his neck, to his jaw. His fingers are cool and his nails scrape gently over the soft skin under Vincent's ear before curling just a bit behind it.

They hold that precise distance almost tenderly, just holding each other there as they kiss. They have only three points of contact – Vincent's hand on D's jaw, their lips meeting, and D's hand on Vincent's neck. A balance is maintained there, and though Vincent could push closer, he doesn't. It's all too delicate.

He wants, though. Wants to push D against the dirt wall behind him, pin him down with hands on his shoulders, devour him. The desire curls and waves and crests inside him and inside his demons growl him to _do more_. Maybe D would even let him.

The tortuously slow kiss just makes it worse. It's barely deep enough for a taste and so unbearably gentle it hardly feels even real. It's almost feather light against the raging storm building inside Vincent, and he wants to shoot through it, push forward, dig his fingers into D's hair and force his head back and –

How long had it been? Centuries, easily.

Vincent leans in closer and for a moment D lets him, leaning back a little. A shadow moves – D's hat falls to the ground beside them. Vincent ignores it, pushing until D finally pushes back, just before the back of his head would have met the wall, just before he would have been pinned.

D's other hand presses on Vincent's chest, trails up to his neck and up his throat, thumb on his chin, pushing him back. Not enough to reject – just fraction of an inch, enough to break the kiss.

Vincent opens his eyes and carefully gauges D's expression.

There is none.

Something in Vincent's own expression must give the cold dismay away, because D's chin lowers a bit, his eyes move down, across Vincent's face and to his lips. His expression is still a cold thing, but his eyes are intense as he moves his hand, fingers brushing coolly over Vincent's chin, thumb pressing against his lips. Still no expression – but he definitely has the man's attention where he wants it.

Maybe... maybe it has been longer than centuries for him.

Vincent runs his fingers along D's jaw, wondering at the coldness of his skin before leaning his gauntlet covered hand on the wall behind D's head. D glances at it, not quite frowning and Vincent watches his face closely for objection. The move is not quite enough to cage the man in, but it closes the space around them, cuts out the rain beyond their makeshift shelter.

D doesn't relax, but when Vincent leans down again, D lifts his head, to meet him half way.

It's still shallow and painstakingly careful and cautious, almost glacial in its pace – but this time Vincent is expecting it. The mind game here might be unavoidable, he muses wryly. They're both too old and too damn cautious for it to go any other way.

And then D's hands brace on each side of his neck, sinking into his hair and cradling the back of his head between long nailed fingertips – and D hauls him in.

"Mhn," escapes Vincent's lips as he falls forward, his knees crashing down on each side of D's legs. D permits a hum there, in answer, and tilts his face just so that he gets deep enough angle at him. Vincent lets him, his body flushing with heat as he lets D in.

It _definitely_ has been longer than centuries. D is a little clumsy, not quite graceless but definitely out of practice. Easier to hide with shallower contact, Vincent muses, but now that it's deeper, it becomes an awkward push against each other, all take and no give, before Vincent gives in and D tastes him and –

Then pulls away.

D looks at him, half wary and half expectant.

They'll never get anywhere if they keep at this, Vincent thinks somewhat wryly, and idly crooks a gold metal covered finger, trapping a gently curling strand of D's dark brown hair in its talon. It seems strangely delicate against the metal, he thinks he could probably cut it against the edge of the talon if he moved his finger just so.

It might even be worth it, to see D's reaction to it.

No, he decides then. Enough of this.

D's expression tightens just a bit as Vincent leans back, his hands dropping from Vincent's neck to his chest and down to his waist, expecting Vincent to get off. Vincent doesn't. Instead he looks D down, quite literally looking for a way into his pants. And he can't see it – D's skin tight clothes look like they're all one piece, no zippers or buttons in sight.

Vincent smiles wryly. "How do you open this?" he asks, tugging at the strange, padded belt around D's waist with a finger.

D inhales sharply and for a moment he's still. "Here," he says then, his voice still perfectly smooth and unaffected, and as Vincent watches, he slowly unbuckles the belt, lets it fall open around his hips. Under it Vincent finds the seam between the top and bottom of his skin-tight suit. Still no buttons or zippers though – the material must stretch.

Vincent tugs his glove off and as D watches him closely, his fingers dip under the strange fabric, just enough to feel skin. Nothing under it, Vincent realises. Of course not – the suit is skin tight. What would _fit_?

Slowly, carefully, Vincent pushes his hand under the cloth, to press against the skin of D's lower abdomen. It's hard and tight under his hand, firm with muscle. Cool here too. D's body temperature must be naturally lower than human's.

D draws a slow breath, looking down, saying nothing. Vincent watches his face and then pushes the tight fabric up, revealing the abdomen, the narrow waist all the way up to D's rib cage where the length of his body. In the shadow of their makeshift shelter, D looks almost blindingly pale, and every single contour of his muscle and bone is well defined, the line of his hip bones bringing the muscles of his stomach into stark relief. Under the layer of tight skin he's like a statue. Hard and utterly still.

Vincent wants to break him and see him _shudder_.

As D watches him, Vincent pushes up to stand on his knees and then pulls back. The dhampir's expression shifts and his hands go to brace against the dirt floor as Vincent eases his fingers under the tight fabric of his trousers, to pull them out of the way.

Somehow it doesn't surprise Vincent in the slightest that D isn't even a bit hard. If it's control or diminished sensitivity is hard to tell – D gives away nothing, just watches him. Vincent looks back as he curls his bare fingers under the man's length – the softest part of his flesh so far, ironically enough. Not a bit of reaction.

"This isn't a battle," Vincent says, lifting the limp length up, curling his fingers around it, examining it curiously. Of course here too D his former perfectly – straight, smooth and perfectly proportional to his body. The lack of pubic hair is somehow expected too – it doesn't even look like it has been removed. D just doesn't grow any.

D's eyelashes twitch. "Isn't it," he says then.

Vincent glances up at him and then looks down – and then, without another word, he lowers his head.

D draws a sharp, surprised breath. Vincent doesn't look up, closing his eyes as he draws him in, just enough to fit the head of his cock behind his teeth, enough to get it against his tongue. He keeps it there with gentle suction as he strokes his dry hand slowly up and then down along the length, up and down, waiting for a reaction.

D's knees shift apart and there's a twitch against Vincent's tongue.

Definitely not lack of sensation then, Vincent thinks, humming in satisfaction as he lowers his head a little, taking in half an inch more and wetting it as much with his saliva as he can before pulling back. D inhales audibly as Vincent strokes his hand all the way up, running his palm over the head of the dhampir's cock to get his hand wet and then he strokes down again, little smoother this time. Then he takes D in again, deeper this time, enjoying the growing hardness of the flesh on his tongue.

D's self control is rather impressive, Vincent muses, glancing up at the man's face. D's staring down at him, his eyes hard and deep and dark. Vincent sucks gently, hollowing his cheeks as he pulls upwards, followed closely by his hand gripping around the base and D's eyelids flutter, threatening to close.

Then, keeping his eyes carefully on D's face, Vincent lowers his head again, sucking gently, drawing D in and in, until he meets the back of his throat. It's been a while, but Vincent's body has ages ago left behind all of its survival instinct. He pushes past the point of gag reflex and sucks and _swallows_ until he gets the heavy, hardening length past that barrier – down his throat.

D's breathing stutters and stops and in the corner of his eye Vincent can see his long nailed fingers burrowing into the dirt, clenching convulsively around fistful of soil.

Vincent swallows again and moves just enough to feel the heavy weight down his mouth move – dragging back barely half an inch against the clench of his throat – and then he pushes down again, his nose just brushing against D's pale skin as he eases the man down his throat. There is a twinge of discomfort at the hinge of his jaw now, but Vincent ignores it to enjoy the look of D's face.

It's even tighter now, inching towards discomfort even.

Vincent holds D there for a moment, stroking his hand down D's bare hip and then touching his own throat, feeling to bulge of D there and then – then he hums.

D's concentration breaks and his hips twitch upwards with only barely withheld gasp. He doesn't get far – can't go far being as deep as he can possibly get – but for a moment Vincent's teeth dig into his skin and his nose is squashed against the man's skin. If D feels the teeth, he doesn't show it has he wrestles his body's control back down and – no.

No, Vincent has taste of it now, of D's lack of control, and he wants to see him wrecked.

Vincent pulls back, fast enough to hurt as D's yanked out of his throat. D lets out a hiss through his teeth, Vincent drags a breath and rubs at his jaw  – and then takes D's fully hard cock back in, sucking it in first and then swallowing it down as D's elbows falter and his back arches and he just barely keeps himself from thrusting up.

"V –" D says and gasps as Vincent hums and sucks and swallows and does everything he can to break his control. It takes work and D fights it all the way, but as Vincent's gone past the point of return now and he _wants_. He works at D's hard, uncomfortably long cock relentlessly, heedless of the ache of his jaw and the sting of his throat – and above him, D's breathing turns, finally, gloriously, erratic.

But he's still striving for control. Vincent glares up at him and then shifts, pulling up and then descending back down, easier now that he's warming up to it. While bracing his weight onto his left hand, his good hand goes to cradle D's balls, his thumb pressing just between them and his middle finger digging into the soft skin behind them, rubbing at the perineum and _finally_ D's control shatters.

D fucks up and into Vincent mouth and _moans_.

 _There we go,_ Vincent growls with dark satisfaction, digging in with his fingers, rolling the weight of D's balls in his hand while pulling back and sucking at the head of D's cock, almost kissing it while grabbing another desperate breath. Awkwardly he shifts to his knees and then reaches with his gauntlet covered hand to grab D's wrist – it almost sends them both off balance but Vincent doesn't care. He brings D's hand onto his neck, under his chin, and then sucks hard and swallows D down again.

D's finger's clench a little there, feeling the shift of Vincent's throat, feeling himself there – and then they tighten on Vincent's chin.

Vincent gasps as he's forced back, D's cock falling from his lips entirely, springing to stand up in front of him instead.

"V," D growls and pushes and pulls at him, dragging Vincent up even as he pushes him back. His jaw aching and throat feeling scraped raw, Vincent falls back to first sit on his knees and then lie on his back and D hovers over him, bared only at the waist and otherwise fully dressed. He's gorgeous, Vincent thinks, bracing D's hips greedily in his hands heedless of the gauntlet as the other man comes down on him, knees on each side of Vincent's chest, pinning him down on the dirt. And then D forces his cock into Vincent's mouth and fucks in, all the way in, down Vincent's throat again, and all thought evaporates.

D fucks him hard and deep, in and out his throat in long forceful strokes, one hand braced against the dirt above them and other on Vincent's jaw, keeping him in place. Vincent groans, a little overwhelmed now – the back of his head is digging into the dirt and he can barely move, and his throat feels raw and swollen and it's –

Vincent releases D's hips and let's him do as he wants in his sudden, overwhelming urge to get a hand on himself. He can't, though – D is keeping him pinned, knees under Vincent's armpits, keeping him from reaching down. Vincent groans in objection around him and D makes a sound – a growl, a purr, he isn't sure, but it's making Vincent _burn_ under him.

D thrusts into him harder, somehow deeper while Vincent kicks at the dirt to try and get _some_ friction out of this, but he's trapped, he can't – fuck, he _can't_ do anything. He can't breathe, he can barely think, world is tightening into that constricting weight down his throat and Vincent realizes distantly, blearily, that he's drooling down his chin now and even that doesn't matter.

D yanks out of his mouth, his cock now red and looking as raw as Vincent feels, gleaming wetly in the flash of lighting outside their makeshift shelter. Vincent gasps desperately for breath even as he mouths and licks on the underside of D's length and the dhampir's stomach and chest heave with his breathing as he stares down at him. Vincent whines and D mouths a curse.

It's a glorious view, almost enough to distract Vincent from how much he's hurting for a touch now. "D," he tries to say, but it comes out as nothing more than voiceless breath and D swallows, sighing shakily.

D shifts above him, just enough to get his knee over rather than under Vincent's right shoulder. Vincent writhes under him and clumsily struggles to get his belts open enough to get hand down his trousers, as the dhampir takes his cock and aims down, pushing in on Vincent's desperate breaths, slowly forcing his way down.

Vincent gets a hand around himself – and comes just like that as D slides slowly and agonizingly home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmhmm yup


	9. Chapter 9

D holds out his hand and Vincent takes it, using it as leverage to pull himself to sit behind the saddle. D says nothing, waits for him to get as comfortable as he can on the edge of the thing, before taking the reins. Under them, the horse turns and then sets out, under D's direction racing out of the forest at full speed, its drumming steps splashing water everywhere.

The rain has stopped now and the couple of minutes they still remain in the forest, it smells amazing. Vincent leans back a little and takes the forest in – it's ancient trees, the light shining through the canopy, the water glistening everywhere. The forest is flooded now, like the ruins were. The water is crystal clear, it looks beautiful.

They never had trees like these in Gaia, these ancient, house sized giants. Even centuries after the Meteor, they simply refused to grow this big.

Vincent almost comments on it, but – it doesn't really matter. Instead he looks his fill and then hums in quiet, private appreciation, before turning to look a head.

D's hand twitches on the reins – even that little hum rasps roughly in Vincent's aching throat. D doesn't say anything, doesn't look behind at him, but Vincent can feel him tensing a little, maybe to cover a shudder. And he doesn't even know the full implication.

"Tell me about this job," Vincent asks, his voice low and raw.

D doesn't speak for a moment, as they come out from the forest shadow and D masterfully manoeuvres his mount to the road, to drum its footsteps hard against it hard packed earth.

"I was hired to retrieve a girl kidnapped by a Noble," D says and, as if in reaction to Vincent's wrecked voice, he too speaks in low tones. "Only she went willingly and then he hired Barbarois bodyguards."

Vincent hums in answer – more to see D twitch then because he strictly speaking needs to. "Noble," Vincent then says.

"That's what they call themselves – the Nobility," D says and finally tilts his head just slightly, just enough to look at him from the very corner of his eye. "When did the Barbarois summon you?"

"It's been a couple of days," Vincent answers.

D's eyes narrow. "They let you go so soon?"

"They couldn't hold me," Vincent answers and thinks about the book, the text he can't understand, the summoning circles that look alien to him. The possibility of way back, maybe..."I don't really mind," Vincent then admits.

And he doesn't. Gaia had grown different fast, had grown full of plants and flowers and civilizations that went beyond Vincent's understanding. The technology had long since passed him by and he couldn't even hope to catch up. After few decades it was already a different world, after centuries – after millennia...

With everything he knew gone and the world changing at relentless pace around him, Vincent hadn't even wanted to keep up with it.

"What do you call this world?" Vincent asks, looking away.

D looks ahead again, away from him. "Earth," he says, after a long silence.

"Earth," Vincent says and then coughs as something twitches in his throat at that airy, rough sound – tissue, nearly ripped. Swallowing, he touches his throat and then... he smiles.

Damn, D used him _hard_.

"You can heal, can't you?" D asks, through his gritted teeth, judging by the sound of it. "You sell medicine – take one."

"Why would I," Vincent asks and then leans in. D grows tense in front of him as Vincent presses closer, his body turning into a wall, a block of ice. "There's a reason why that was my approach, I'm not about to erase its effects."

"You –" D cuts off, swallowing a complaint perhaps, or comment on the obvious. "Why?" he asks then.

Vincent rubs at his aching throat. "It's the only part of me that remains fully human, or close enough anyway," he admits. "Everything else... has been tampered with."

Or centuries of transformations had infected it with his demons, leaving lasting effects inside and out – but for some reason in every form the actual construction of his throat remained the same. Even his tongue was different these days, but everything between his tonsils and his oesophagus remained as it had been before he'd died – soft and vulnerable and _human_.

It's the only part of him that doesn't heal at superhuman speed, either.

Nowadays that small difference is... enormous to him. The sensation is different – there is visceral sting to it that lingers and won't go away unless he takes a potion or casts a cure. It's testament to how inhuman he's become, that sometimes that pain is more sexually rewarding than anything done to his actual cock.

D says nothing while Vincent enjoys the very human ache. Vincent lets the implications speak for themselves and doesn't bother to wonder what D might think. D had welcomed him to join him – it doesn't matter what he thinks privately, his actions had already spoken.

For a moment, they ride in silence, D's cape pillowing against Vincent's sides, and Vincent's cape flapping behind him, ragged and tattered. "So now what?" Vincent asks. "Your quarry got away and you got stalled. The Marcus clan will have a head start, if they haven't caught up yet."

"The roads here are bad – they would've been forced to stall too when the rain turned them muddy," D answers. "As would Meier Link's carriage. We'll catch up – by the castle at the very latest."

That, Vincent muses, must be the vampire's name. "Castle?"

"It's the only place they can go in these mountains. Castle of Chayte."

"The castle of the Bloody Countess," another voice says and D's left hand twitches, the dhampir looking down at it in displeasure. "Don't give me that look, he already know I'm here," the face in D's hand says with a tch and then gives Vincent and ugly look. " _You_."

Vincent arches an eyebrow at the thing. "Bloody countess," he repeats.

"Carmilla Elizabeth Bathory – a vampire Noble, a particularly vile one," the hand says with a scoff at him. "She's dead, killed five thousand years ago by the Vampire King – but of course, you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

"So they're taking sanctuary at her castle?" Vincent says, trying to wrap his head around the time frame. Five thousand years – that's a... lot even to him. "Must be in bad repair, after all that time."

"It would have been automatically maintained," D answers. "Most Noble castles are."

Well, considering people here ride on robotic animals... it makes sense.

"Never mind the demons and wraiths and ghosts inside it," the hand scoffs at Vincent. "It's a nest of malign energies now, all sorts of spirits infesting its corners. You'll feel _right_ at home."

 _Mmm,_ a voice hums in the back of Vincent's head and he frowns looking away. _Spirits, says the little demon..._

What does that mean for a world like this, though – world without Lifestream? In Gaia, spirits were manifestation of memories of the Lifestream, raising to the surface and acting out their old habits in places people used to reside. Here...

 _Here they will be roaming souls and their lingering energies,_ Chaos says. _Roaming where they may because they have no place to go, no Lifestream to join..._ The demon laughs, mean and lustful. _Do remember our bargain, Vincent._

Vincent doesn't answer – but his stillness must've been pronounced enough to feel, because D is looking at him. Vincent looks back, waiting him to ask.

D looks away.

* * *

 

"Get off," D says, and Vincent jumps off the saddle. Moment later, D is off the thing as well, and rushing at the concentration of _demonic energy_ just ahead of them. One of the Barbarois bodyguards, Vincent thinks as he lands on a near by rock pillar, while D clashes with the rough looking, dark haired demon.

They're close to the castle now – at least Vincent assumes the colossal structure of spires and bridges he can see in the distance is the castle. It had taken a lot of winding roads to get to it, growing increasingly harder to cross the further they'd gone. Not a road often travelled, that was for certain – and definitely not a road one could take with vehicles like the carriage or the Marcus clan's tank.

D had taken a short cut – and the fact that he knew about it meant he's been here before and knows what to expect.

Slowly Vincent stands up on the stone spire, peering at the looming castle. Even at a distance he can feel it – the sense of _something_ emanating from it. While the Barbarois guard roars and D's sword flashes through the air, Vincent concentrates and casts a Sense. Normally, this would be too far away and normally you can only use the spell on living targets... but this world is strange.

He's not really that surprised it actually works.

The castle feels like menacing danger, a looming threat – and _thirst_.

 _Oh,_ Chaos breathes. _Oh, just_ feel _that..._

Vincent frowns, trying to make sense of the feeling. It doesn't feel... demonic, it doesn't feel like place infested with energy, demonic or otherwise. It feels nothing like he expected it to feel – like the Barbarois mountain. It feels more like D, like the white haired vampire from the castle, only _massive_.

 _She must've eaten them,_ Chaos murmurs, sounding impressed.

Something in Vincent shudders to the core.

Below him, D fights the Barbarois bodyguard. Vincent looks down for a moment, trying to place the Barbarois man – but it's not one he'd ever talked to. He certainly would remember – the man has a massive _maw_ in his stomach.

D rips through it with his sword with very little difficulty.

"Who hired the Barbarois?" D demands. "Was it her?"

"You really think – I would tell you? And betray – my client?" the Barbarois demands. "How arrogant are you?"

The Barbarois falls – and doesn't get up. Vincent looks down at him, at D standing over the man without care for the death he caused and when Vincent looks up again, at the castle, D follows his gaze.

"What do you sense?" D asks.

"There's only one soul in that castle," Vincent says with a frown. "Massive one. It's consumed everything else in there."

In light of Lifestream, mako and materia, it's not so strange to him, but for some reason he hadn't been expecting it. Is that was Chaos wants to do, devour lesser souls, consume their energies to make himself stronger?

The demon inside him laughs.

"Does this sort of thing happen often here?" Vincent asks, looking down. "Souls eating other souls?"

D doesn't answer, his eyes hidden under the brim of his hat.

"No, it doesn't happen often. That'll be Carmilla, I bet," the entity in D's hand says. "She must've figured out a way to come back. After all this time her body must be little more than mummy though – but if she's managed to pull together her spirit... all she needs is..."

"Pure human blood," D murmurs.

Vincent jumps down from the spire. "Hm?"

"The girl. Charlotte Elbourne," D's hand says. "She comes from an old human family; no genetic modifications, no mutations, nothing. There aren't many of those left."

Vincent walks towards D, who glances at him with a slight frown. Vincent looks down at the dead Barbarois – for a moment he has to wonder what might've happened if he had stayed there, with the Barbarois, and seen these events from their side?

For a moment it seems like D might say something, maybe even ask him to stay behind – but he doesn't. Instead he turns to head for the horse and after casting another look at the dead Barbarois Vincent follows.

 _Seems like this world is a little more interesting than I first assumed,_ Chaos hums with amusement. _All but primed to implode on itself – and we're just at the cusp of its crash. This will be very interesting indeed._

What is that supposed to mean?

Chaos just laughs.

* * *

 

Vincent wakes up, his cheek pressed against rough stone, his gold covered left hand resting in front of him. Confused, Vincent flexes his fingers and then listens. Water dripping, gentle waves – distant sound of the ocean. Everything smells of salt and stone.

He knows this.

Quickly, Vincent looks up, up and towards the glow that dominates the cave he's in. A pillar of crystal stands in front of him, glimmering source of radiant light that leaves no shadow in the cave. Inside it, there is a woman, still and asleep and forever unmoving.

Lucrecia sleeps, as she has for – for how long?

Millennia? Centuries? Or has it been just decades?

Sighing, Vincent sits up, lifting one knee up to rest the heavy gauntlet on it. He looks up at the crystal – the same way he has done so many times, and searches for answers. How long had he been asleep?

"I had the strangest dream," Vincent tells Lucrecia and then frowns, touching his throat. Strange – it aches to speak. "I was summoned by demons to another world."

He waits but, of course, Lucrecia doesn't answer – she never answers. Vincent watches her face, waiting for anything, a slight move, a twitch. He knows, the talks he had with her, they were just with her memories manifesting through the Lifestream. She's gone; she's been gone for –

The thought refuses to turn – he doesn't know the year, doesn't know how long it has been. When did he get here? And how, for that matter, this place –

Her crystal is in –

And then she is in front of him and she's real and she's beautiful. Lucrecia Crescent stands in front of him, breathing, smiling, _alive_ , and for a moment Vincent's mind is completely still, completely quiet.

He doesn't even dare to breathe.

They're in the laboratory; she's holding his hand, smiling at him, telling him everything he always wanted to hear. "It's yours," she says, and releases his hand to touch her belly. She smiling, radiant, so happy, so _alive_. "Do you hear me – it's yours, it was always yours."

"No," Vincent says, staring at his hand, his left hand. It's covered in golden metal. "No, this never happened."

"Come, I have proof," Lucrecia says and tugs at his hand. "I made tests – come and see, you'll know for sure. Just up here, come on."

She's pulling him up a set of metal stairs. Her hand on his is an impossible force, like gravity, and for a moment Vincent is pulled along, stepping onto the first stair – but this is impossible, this never happened. This laboratory was destroyed _ages_ ago, the mansion was demolished, these things don't _exist anymore_. Even the cave is gone, corroded over the years by the ocean, her body inside the crystal was worn away by the Lifestream – the crystal itself was shattered –

Her hand slips from his and Vincent pulls out his gun. "Come on," Lucrecia says over her shoulder. "I'll prove it to you. Everything you always suspected, I'll prove it to you."

Vincent shoots her in the back of the head.

The illusion breaks like fabric tearing. He's no longer in the laboratory beneath the ShinRa Mansion – he is instead facing nothing. He's standing on a window ledge and in front of him there is a thousand foot drop.

The awareness rushes back with demonic howl inside him – Galian Beast and Chaos, both of them furious, Death Gigas raging against his barriers, Hellmasker lusting for blood. Vincent inhales and steps back from the ledge, down to the corridor.

He's in Castle of Chayte and that... just didn't happen.

Shakily, Vincent looks away.

The Castle of Chayte is amazing, even to his unfamiliar eye. It's less of a single structure, and more of an enormous city that is all one piece – easily big enough to house thousands and thousands of people. It's beautiful too, all smooth lines and gleaming tiles, with gold and silver accenting everything and making the place glimmer and gleam.

It doesn't look like a place that has been empty for thousands of years – it looks like place that was just _built_ and has yet to be touched. It's perfect, like picture on a catalogue, displaying its best aspects on all sides.

Whether it was the automated maintenance – or the thousands of layers of _illusion_ the place is covered in, Vincent is isn't sure, but the place doesn't feel real.

It isn't real.

D steps out from a nearby doorway, sword in hand. "You broke through it," the dhampir comments.

"What was that?" Vincent demands, his hand tightening on his gun.

"A psychic attack," D says and looks up.

There's laughter and for a moment Vincent is confused – it's a woman's voice. Then he realizes it doesn't come from within him – it comes from above him.

"Well now, you're doing much better than the other set of hunters," a woman's voice says, amused and echoing in the wide hall. She stands on the wall, heedless of gravity, in grandiose red dress with her hair done up. "I suppose you'd have to be stronger, just to exist in this world. Outrageous insults, the pair of you. The very nature of this earth abhors you."

Vincent squeezes the trigger, but there's no point shooting her – she's not actually there.

"Where is the girl?" D demands.

Carmilla the Bloody Countess laughs and disappears in flutter of wings – bats, of all things, which fly out of the windows and down the corridor, disappearing behind doors.

Vincent scowls after her and then looks away, at D, and then where D is looking, down the corridor. The Sense is almost a second nature now, he's been casting it so many times that it comes automatically – and he feels...

"D," Vincent says, his voice low. "Go do your job. I'll handle this."

The dhampir glances at him and then spins on his heel and heads away without a word. Vincent doesn't look after him, merely cocks his gun and waits. Even with the Sense spell fading, he can still feel it, coming closer. The feel of it is unmistakeable.

Power and air and light and bursts of exhilaration – a well, full to the brim.


	10. Chapter 10

Grove looks good. He's put away the thick coats he'd been wearing and the scarf is nowhere to be seen – instead he wears a simple shirt and trousers that fit him perhaps too snugly, but still better than the ones he wore before, which hung on his frame loosely. He looks filled out, healthy, well. Vincent takes some satisfaction in seeing him on his feet like this.

He's also armed, a hand gun strapped to a loose belt around his waist, a knife sheathe on his other side.

"V," Grove says with a sigh. "Are you on the side of the Barbarois? Leila said you have something to do with them – she called you a demon. Are you with them?"

For a moment Vincent says nothing, just takes him in. Considering how delicate he had been, how careful the other Marcus brothers had been with him, it is a little strange to see him alone. Vincent waits to see if someone else appears behind Grove – but there's nothing, Grove is alone.

"I'm with D," he says after a moment.

"I see," Grove says, lowering his eyes a bit. "I guess that's little better – still... I would've preferred to see you on our side."

Vincent wasn't really on anyone's side – it didn't matter to him one way or another who won the price for a job well done here. It didn't affect him in the slightest, and he didn't know the girl they'd all set out to sabe. If D walked away successful, it would be interesting – if he walked away empty handed, it would be interesting simply in a different way.

That doesn't really matter here. Vincent had gotten involved and chosen who he followed – that put him on a side.

"Where are the others?" Vincent asks, because it still seems so strange, to see Grove walking about alone. Even with his strength and health returned, Grove had been bedridden for a long time, years Vincent suspects. To jump from that to the action immediately...

"Kyle is dead," Grove says, not meeting his eyes, staring instead at Vincent's shoes. "One of the Barbarois killed him."

"When?"

"Hour or so ago."

Too late for a revive then. Vincent sighs and looks away. He's been on this world for less than handful of days, and already someone he met and even liked as a person is gone. Already, people are starting to die around him again. It's to be expected, of course, but... he didn't expect it so soon.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Vincent says.

Grove frowns a little and looks up. He looks confused for a moment – it must be rare for people to express sentiments of sympathy here. Then Grove's expression shifts, into something harder, something more tired. "I wanted for us to stop this," he admits and looks around them, at the grandiose, gleaming hall. "We lost two already, two of my brothers are gone already, but... Borgoff is so mad and Leila is furious. It's like this job is all they have."

Vincent says nothing as the young man sways a little where he stands – it's not out of imbalance, he sways back and forward slightly, intentionally. Small, private enjoyment of the fact that he knows he's not about to fall – testing the limits of his own physicality in subtle ways.

"Where is the girl?"

"Not here," Vincent says. "The mistress of this castle has her."

Grove shudders a little at that, hand lifting to his other elbow, half hugging himself. Habit from where he used to be colder, probably.

"You can feel her, can't you?" Vincent asks.

Grove shakes his head, but not in denial. "I don't know how that concoction of yours did what it did, but I feel a – lot now," he admits and then meets Vincent's eyes. "And I need to find the girl. Sooner I do, the faster we can get out of here. Are you going to stand in my way?"

Vincent's lips flatten a little and his hand on his gun grip tightens.

Whether he cares or not, he has sided with D now. And without him, Grove wouldn't be here, wouldn't be in this state. If Grove attacked D... it would be Vincent's fault in some minor way.

"I'm not going to let you attack D," Vincent says.

Grove looks at him sadly, tiredly. Then he sighs, and falls to his knees slowly, bracing himself with his fingers against the floor. "I thought not."

There's a burst of light – it's as much a mental, magical feeling as it is a visible thing. Grove doesn't as much cast a spell as he _summons_ something – something which is at first too bright and too powerful to look at, which then solidifies into a light, glowing shape of... of Grove himself. Surrounded by specks of light, this glowing shape hovers over the real physical version of Grove on the floor.

Vincent looks between the two, tries to concentrate to a Sense to see what, exactly, did Grove just do – when the specks of light around Grove shift and _burst_.

They tear holes through Vincent's ragged cape as he just barely avoids them. Glancing backwards he can see the small circular holes they tore into the walls, into door at the end of the corridor – hot smouldering holes, as if super heated spikes had just cut through them.

Chances are if one of them cut him, it would cut right through him.

Vincent says nothing – he can't say anything, can't even take aim. Another burst of light comes at him faster than he act and again it's only barely that he gets out of the way, leaving behind him a cluster of simmering holes in the floor and by the wall he'd stood.

Stopping to think isn't an option, so Vincent doesn't. Strafing to the side, Vincent aims his gun past the spears of light coming at him, at the spirit version of Grove, and as another spike of light brushes past his shoulder, tearing through the cloth here, Vincent pulls the trigger.

The bullet passes through the form and impacts the window behind him, shattering it – but the shape doesn't so much as flicker.

"I don't want to kill you, Grove," Vincent says. "But I will if you don't leave me another choice."

No answer, just another cluster of glowing spears coming at him and tearing into the floor and walls. There is a smell of ozone of smoke in the air, burning wood and metal and plastic. The feel of magic coming from Grove is overwhelming it in Vincent's senses, though.

What Grove is doing uses a lot of mana – but he _has_ a lot of mana to use now.

The spirit version of Grove is smiling, a childish, almost intoxicated look of pure joy in his face as another burst of light comes at Vincent, tearing another hole into his cape as he narrowly avoids it. On the floor, the physical version of Grove slowly lists to the side and falls to lie there, unconscious.

So that was how he kept using his ability, even when his body started failing him – he didn't actually need to be physically active to use it. Depending on the range, it's a definite weakness to the ability. One Grove really should have kept in mind before coming.

Vincent takes aim at the unconscious man's head, and for a split of a second he could take the shot.

He doesn't.

Cursing he jumps away from another attack of light, lifting his gun up. After putting so much effort into getting Grove back to full health and power, killing him now seems like a terrible waste. Especially how young Grove must be. His hair is all grey now, but now that his face is filled out and no longer clings to his bones like wet cloth to a skeleton, he looks barely twenty. Terrible, terrible waste.

Vincent fires up a materia. It takes almost more concentration than he has to give and before he gets the spell ready, Grove catches him. A spear of light races at Vincent – and cuts through his leg, tearing right through it and out from the other side. The pain is a sharp lance, almost enough to break his concentration – but Vincent is Gaian through and through.

Pain, he knows from experience, is temporary.

The specks of light withdraw and begin to swell for another attack. Before they can, Vincent aims Cerberus at Grove and shoots a spell at him. There is a chance it might not work at all, and if it didn't he would have to kill Grove, but he has to try...

For a moment it looks like nothing happens. Then the Grove on the floor inhales and starts to cough while the spirit version vanishes. The darkness that descends with that bright light gone is almost blinding, and within it Grove's coughs turn into hyperventilation and gagging as he tries to do _something_ and fails.

"W-What did you do to me?" Grove gasps, touching his chest. "I-it's gone – what did you do?"

"I told you not to waste it," Vincent says, to hide the sheer relief. It worked. Thank god. "Fighting the likes of me is definitely a waste."

"What did you do?" Grove asks, pushing up and looking up at him desperately.

"I silenced you," Vincent says and pushes Cerberus back into its holster. "It might wear off, it might not, I don't know. I can remove it... but I won't."

"V," Grove says, looking up. "V, please."

Vincent turns around on his heel, before his sentimentality might get better of him – he needs to find D. His thigh twinges with pain and he limps slightly – but it's not bad enough to waste a potion, not yet. Better save it, in case he gets hurt worse.

Behind him, there is something pulled from a holster and metallic click. "V," Grove says, his voice shaking. "Remove it! Please!"

Vincent glances back just enough to see that Grove can't aim properly, even with his new strength he's not used to handling weapons and the gun shakes too much in his hand.

Vincent continues away.

Grove doesn't shoot him.

* * *

 

D is fighting when Vincent finds him.

Vincent finds them in another grandiose hall, one which looks almost like a throne room. Everything gleams with polish and perfection, with gold and silver glimmering everywhere, with floors reflecting all light that hits it. In the very end, there is a grand stair case, leading up to a... a stone coffin, Vincent thinks, and frowns.

At the foot of the stairs, there is a girl in white dress lying on the floor – and near her, Leila Marcus checking her pulse.

"You," Leila says, and she sounds weary and tired and _angry_. "I was hoping you'd be dead by now. Grove?"

"Alive," Vincent says, looking down to the girl Leila was crouching over. He'd seen her at a distance before – close up, she's beautiful and even younger than Grove. Maybe eighteen at most, barely older than a child.

She's also dead, with two small puncture marks on her neck and trail of blood tracing down her pale throat.

"What did you do to him?" Leila asks and looks Vincent over, noticing the new, circular holes in Vincent's cape, the cut edge of his collar – the wound cutting through his thigh. "You definitely didn't get without a fight – Grove used his Other Self on you. How are you not dead?"

Vincent glances at her. "I took away his power."

Leila glares at him, her hand squeezing into a fist and for a moment she looks like she's on the edge of springing to action. She has her gun, it's close at hand – she could pull it on him... But she doesn't. "Borgoff is dead," she says then. "Kyle is dead. Nolt is dead. Fuck this damn job..." She turns to down at the dead girl. For a moment she struggles with something and then shakes her head. "It's not worth it."

Vincent says nothing.

Leila draws a shuddering breath and then reaches for the girl's hand. She wears a ring there, with small insignia on it – quietly Leila eases it off. "Where is he?" she asks, standing up, the ring squeezed tight in her grip.

Vincent nods his head. "Up those stairs, down the corridor and to the right – that's where I left him."

Leila looks him over and nods and without another word she walks away.

In the distance there is a clash of metal on metal that draw's Vincent's attention away momentarily. D is pushing against Meier's cape, now turned slightly metallic as the vampire pushes back. Neither of them is bloodied and judging by the way they push against each other, they're about evenly matched when it comes to strength.

Vincent turns away and ignores them both in favour of kneeling by Charlotte Elbourne and checking her over with a Sense.

She's still warm – her health is zero, but she has still mana left in her. So, she hasn't been dead for longer than minute or two. He's got time.

Quietly, Vincent takes Cerberus and aims it at her chest.

"What are you _doing_?!" a voice he only vaguely recalls from what seems like life time ago demands, while Vincent concentrates. "Get away from here, you – "

Vincent fires a second level Life at Charlotte Elbourne, ignoring the clash of metal that happens seemingly right behind his head. D's cape flares into his view momentarily as the dhampir defends him from Meier's attack, but Vincent barely notices as his mana is quickly drained. He's used spells before in this world, but nothing quite as draining full revive – it takes off hundred points of his mana pool and the absence aches hollowly.

It really feels like part of his very spirit being ripped out.

Then Charlotte Elbourne comes to with a loud gasp, sitting up in a convulsion and bracing both hands against her chest, where Vincent's spell is forcing to beat again. Vincent looks her over in Sense and nods with satisfaction – back to full health.

"W-what –" a voice whispers and then Vincent is nearly knocked aside as the vampire forsakes his fight to go to the girl, crashing down to his knees by her. "Charlotte? Charlotte, darling, Charlotte?"

Vincent leans back a little, watching the confusion and realization race across the girl's features before she looks up at Meier Link. Then Vincent looks up at D, who is watching him with unreadable expression, sword still in hand.

"H-how?" Meier demands, turning to Vincent. "How did you – why would you –"

Vincent shrugs and stands up with a slight wince, rubbing at his thigh. "Leila took a ring off her," Vincent says to D. "Probably as proof of her death."

D frowns a little and looks at Meier, who braces the girl by the shoulders, turning a look of anger and desperation and confusion at the dhampir. "You can't take her," he says, fingers tangling into the fabric at the girl's shoulders. "She is here by her own choice – you know that by now!"

"She died, Meier," D says coolly. "You led her to her death. Will there be someone to revive her next time?"

The vampire's expression twists and he turns to the girl. "Charlotte," he whispers and cradles the girl's cheek in his hand.

"M-Meier?" she asks. "Meier, what... what happened?"

Vincent inhales and then looks up. Something in the castle is a little different. "Carmilla?" he asks. He hadn't noticed it while fighting – or rather avoiding a fight – with Grove, but her presence is weaker.

"Destroyed," D says calmly and looks away, towards a mess of a withered copse, covered in what looks like layer of blood. Vincent frowns at it and then uses Sense on the thing.

It's dead – but mana lingers on it like stain, wafting off it like stench of rot. Weakened, certainly, whatever D had done to it had taken out a good chunk of its power – but her soul is still there. You can't destroy energy, after all – you can only change it. To mana, to materia, to mako...

 _To Lifestream,_ Chaos murmurs and his thoughts brush against Vincent's, almost tenderly. _She will never be gone now that she has figured it out. She will start again and again... unless..._

Vincent frowns a little.

"We were tricked," Meier says. "Carmilla promised us sanctuary, and a way away from this miserable planet. She promised us passage to the city of night where we might be at peace. It was all a lie."

"The city of night is gone, Meier," D says. "It has been gone for millennia and more."

The vampire bows his head.

"Meier," Charlotte Elbourne murmurs and touches' the vampire's pale cheek. "We can go somewhere else, we can be at peace somewhere else – please – "

"We can never be at peace on this world," Meier whispers. "They will always come after us, even if this one," he casts a look at D, "Leaves at peace, there will always be others. It will never stop, Charlotte."

D watches them silently, still holding his sword but saying nothing.

Vincent looks away. The whole scene is painful even when he understands very little of it. He doesn't know the history or the culture, but they're all aching over it – not just Meier and Charlotte, but D too. The heartsick radiates off all of them and its choking Vincent.

He's been using Sense too much, he realises ruefully as he turns way. He's becoming empathic.

D's eyes slide after him as Vincent approaches the mess of blood and decay which he assumes is Carmilla's body. The blood must be Charlotte's – the reason she died in the first place. Probably also the reason why the corpse is there, lying in a pile on the floor, rather than in the coffin where the blood trails lead. It has been cut in half and pierced through... but so as long as mana lingers on it, Vincent can revive it.

Which means someone else could revive it.

Vincent kneels down at the edge of the smears of blood and he thinks... he thinks he understands now. This world, its strangeness, the vile energy that seems to permeate everything – and Carmilla and Chaos's sheer delight over her.

Lifestream isn't necessity for life – but a side effect of it. And this world is on the cusp of developing that side effect. The people and beings here, like D, like Grove, like Carmilla, are strong in mana, stronger than people in Gaia are naturally – but theirs don't replenish, so they are learning to reach out. Carmilla had figured out a way to replenish hers – by taking the mana of others. By taking the _souls_ of others.

Like that one imperfection that starts the condensation that turns into a cloud, she had managed to start the process. If she'd been allowed to continue, accumulating power and mana and souls... One day...

 _She will start again,_ Chaos says.

Did it happen like this on Gaia? So much of Gaia's natural history had been lost and what remained had been corrupted by the likes of Professor Hojo, who'd turned facts around to suit their purposes and layered all in tones of prophesy to justify their own actions. Promised land, and all that nonsense...

Doesn't matter now.

If Carmilla was allowed to remain, to start again... what kind of Lifestream would she give birth to?

_You could wait and find out. Few thousand years and you'll see._

"I think not," Vincent murmurs and turns Cerberus in his hand.

D stands beside him, watching him silently as Vincent takes out a sphere of materia and shifts out one of the Master Materia off the gun. Linking the new sphere with the Master Magic, Vincent steps back and aims Cerberus at Carmilla's corpse.

Then he sets her on with the lowest possible fire spell.

The feel of the mana absorb doing its job is _vile_.

"Is she still here?" D asks.

"Not for long," Vincent says, and fires another spell at the corpse. In the back of his head he can hear a woman screaming as he drains her mana bit by bit, draining what little of her soul she has left. It replenishes his own mana faster than he expected – it's usually only a fraction... but the rules of Gaia don't seem to apply to lot of things here.

She withers away, and Vincent's mana fills to the brim – and spills over. Chaos hums in the back of his mind. _That's one of ten,_ he says, sounding deeply pleased and withdraws.

Vincent shudders and holsters his gun.

Behind him, Meier Link helps Charlotte Elbourne to her feet, and the two of them stare at Vincent and D warily, Meier expecting a fight, and Charlotte still confused about what happened.

"Now what, dhampir?" Meier demands, sounding desperate and furious and helpless. "You only take her if she chooses to go, I will not let you take her against her will. Charlotte?"

"I will – go nowhere without Meier," the girl says, clutching onto him. " _Nowhere_."

D watches them silently and then looks at Vincent. Vincent looks back and then away, at the hall around them considerately. It's all empty now. No malicious energy, no demons, no souls – no Carmilla. Just an empty space, now.

Vincent glances at D, who narrows his eyes slightly and then looks away. The dhampir moves from Vincent's side and walks over to the vampire and his lover. Meier snarls and moves to defend the girl – only to stop when D sheathes his sword.

"Your hair clips – give them to me."

"What?" Charlotte asks, confused.

"I need a proof of your death," D says. "Give me your hair clips – I will take them to your father."

The girl draws a slow breath, staring at him while Meier does the same. Then, slowly, her hands shaking terribly, she reaches for her hair, and eases the two pearl adorned hair clips off her hair, letting it fall loose over her ears. "H-here."

D takes them and then turns away while the pair stare at him in astonished disbelief. Vincent sighs, rubbing at his thigh and then follows him.

"Thank you," Meier whispers behind them. "Thank you, thank you... _thank you_..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then Meier and Charlotte took over Castle of Chayte and had many beautiful dhampir babies and established a glorious dhampir safehaven and it was beautiful, the end.
> 
> One more chapter to go.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More smut.

All in all, Earth is interesting, Vincent decides. What little he's learned of it has painted a picture in vivid hues of red and burnt umber and its ugly, but he can't for the life of him look away. Monsters and blood and viscera and the foul energy of lingering souls that can't move on – humans and demons and vampires, all in their own way trying to survive, usually at the expense of each other.

The world – or at least what little of it Vincent's learned to know – is in a strange sort of transient state, like how Gaia had been after the fall of ShinRa. Judging by the looks of things, it has been this way for centuries and it will be like this for centuries more. There is a power vacuum here that just can't be filled. The fall of the Nobility and the decline of vampires opened up a future no one had expected and no one knew what to do with and even after generations people are still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It's tense and painful and awkward. All things Vincent knows well, and has, in his own way, come to miss since things in Gaia settled.

He thinks, privately, that he could live centuries here and never feel the urge to lay down his head and sleep the time away.

* * *

 

D takes them to a settlement Vincent doesn't know. It too is surrounded high walls and it too doesn't accept them easily – the guards keep them at gun point all the way in and shadow them while they're there, keeping Vincent company out side on the dry, sun scorched road while D heads inside, carrying Charlotte Elbourne's hairpins in his hand.

Dhampirs, apparently, aren't welcome anywhere. Having seen it once, and now again here where people scurry away at the sight of him, where men surround him warily with guns aimed at his chest, at his heart, Vincent thinks he maybe understands D a little better. Vincent might look like a dhampir, but D is the real thing. And, if Vincent isn't entirely wrong with his estimation... D has been dealing with this for a long, long time. Maybe longer than Vincent himself has been alive.

Still strange to think he's found someone _older_ than himself. Though who knows. He did sleep for a long time. In actually experienced time, though, D definitely has him beat.

There's a sheriff among the watchers, with a rifle and bead of sweat trailing down his weather worn face, who watches Vincent like he expects him to grow horns. Vincent wonders somewhat amusedly, what they'd do if Vincent actually did grow horns. He very well could.

He says or does nothing though – and neither do the men circling him and D's horse as they all wait, in high strung tension, for D to finish his business.

Eventually D comes back, looking completely changed. Vincent takes in the dhampir's face – no tension, not a hint of irritation. There's quiet clink of coins in the air – under the cover of his cape, D is carrying something.

 They'd either beaten what remained of the Marcus clan, or Leila and Grove simply hadn't bothered to deliver the ring.

D mounts the horse without a word, and for a moment just sits there, looking down on Vincent – almost as if considering leaving him there, surrounded by men with guns. Vincent can almost see why, too – it would distract him long enough for D to make a clean get away and a head start Vincent might have difficulty of catching up to, even on wing.

Vincent says nothing, doesn't give his emotions away. He can understand – he can feel it all the time now, the weight of time on D's shoulders. Lonely, empty time, an ever expanding void of contact. Such time spend so alone... it must be difficult, to have him around. If D wants to get rid of him...

D looks down the road and then holds out a hand.

Vincent grips it without pause, and together they pull him on one smooth motion to sit behind D on the saddle.

* * *

 

In the days that follow, there are couple more moments like that.

They take shelter from the hot noon sun in abandoned warehouse in middle of nowhere, and when in the evening D goes to saddle the horse he considers Vincent for a long time. Vincent knows he's weighing the horse down – though better suited for riding than chocobos, the partially robotic creatures aren't designed for two riders.

They run into a heavily armed and even more heavily armoured caravan of merchants, who don't disdain D's coin of what few medicine Vincent decides to sell them. While D goes about replenishing what little supplies he bothers to carry, Vincent finds himself a woman selling books – one of which is clearly a book for teaching children to read. She gives him strange look as he barters for it, and for a moment Vincent looses track of D entirely. He doesn't find him until the caravan gets moving again, and clears the road.

There's a battle against _something_ that's covered the road. Creatures with many legs and heads on multiple ends, which breathe some sort of acid gas. D takes out two of them before Vincent brings out the big spells and skewers the rest of the creatures with third level Ice – and inside, Chaos hums, _four out of ten_. It's not before Vincent inhales a lungful of the acid gas and then has to spend good two hours choking on it, even after a cure. D doesn't look particularly pleased by it.

Every time, he holds out his hand and draws Vincent to sit in the saddle behind him.

Every time, it seems to take a little longer.

They take shelter near another high-walled town, in structure on the side of a river with a broken water wheel and what looks like old, rundown power generator. While Vincent waters the horse and idly examines its joints for any debris that might've gotten in – apparently the getting sand under the plates was fastest way to loose a good horse... D vanishes.

It's getting increasingly awkward and increasingly tense, travelling together. D seems to only barely tolerate it now that the initial interest has passed, and it's getting more and more obvious that if this goes on...

Vincent runs a hand over the horse's plates and sighs. He should make it easy for them and just leave, he muses. D is still by far the most interesting part of this world, but it's not like he's seen much of it yet – it hasn't been a month yet. The world itself is easily fascinating enough to keep him captivated and awake for a long time. And who knows, he might find other things just as interesting as D.

Not yet, though. After all – it would be interesting to see which form of abandonment D would eventually choose – in a town, by roadside tavern, in the middle of nowhere on the open road... He would have to make it good to kill any interest Vincent had in going after him, after all.

Not that Vincent would, he can take no for an answer, and if D wanted to be rid of him, he'd be gone... but he's not sure D knows that.

Shaking his head Vincent takes the horse to the shadow of the water wheel and while it starts examining the wild patches of grass there, Vincent hears the beat of hooves. He looks up, expecting some local militia, on its way to tell the dreadful dhampirs off...

It's D, on a new horse. He rides to the grass covered front yard of the water wheel house and then slides off the saddle – a brand new saddle, obviously only just recently made and bought.

D walks over to him, leading the robotic horse by the reins, and then he holds them out for Vincent.

Is this it, then? Vincent wonders, even as he accepts them. D watches him silently as Vincent looks the new horse over – like D's own, it's dark toned with short wild mane, and gleam of electric red in its eyes. Common model, judging by the looks of it, not that Vincent knows much about horses yet.

He swings up to the saddle and then, using all the tricks he's seen – and felt – D use with his own mount, he gets himself familiar with controlling the beast. It takes a moment, and D keeps watching him all the while until Vincent figures out where to press his heels to get the horse to move faster, and how to pull the reins to stop it. Nowhere near the mastery D has over horses, but it's a start.

D turns away, hesitating for a moment and then heading inside the house. Vincent looks after him, wondering. He has a horse now. D hadn't needed to get one for him, but he had and there's quite bit of sentiment to the gesture. Which way that sentiment goes, though...

No.

Vincent swings down from the saddle and after making sure his new horse has had it's fill of water and place in the shadow by D's horse, he heads inside.

The house they'd taken shelter in isn't much of a residence. There are no beds there, not much in way of furniture – apparently when the power generator had broken and the wheel had fallen to the river, people had simply stripped the place clean and left it. All there is now is what's build into the walls – cupboards and shelves and counters, one of which is set under the window overlooking the river.

D stands by that one and though it's hard to tell with the floor length cape, with the hair, with the hat... he looks tense. More than that, he _feels_ tense to Vincent's slowly awakening sixth sense.

He'd expected Vincent to go.

Vincent stands by the open door for a moment, watching the line of the dhampir's shoulders. D is resting a hand on the counter, just in the edge of sunlight screening down from the window – his fingers are lightly curled towards his palm, in a loose fist, not quite tight, not quite relaxed

Slowly Vincent closes the door behind him. D's hand clenches and then opens and presses against the counter edge, pushing back from it a little. He doesn't turn though, doesn't look at Vincent.

This would be easier, Vincent muses, if they hadn't gotten so good at reading each other so fast. Couple of days and they barely bother to talk at all anymore – and when they get into the swing of using body language instead of spoken one, the silence is hard to break. Spoken words convey such insignificant amount of information, compared to the slightest twitch of D's eyelashes, the tightening of the corners of his mouth.

Of course, now Vincent can't see either, and that's definitely by design.

But Vincent won't ask. He asked once and it got him his death and then immortality. He doesn't ask, anymore. If D wanted him to go, he damn well better say it himself.

D doesn't though. And the longer they wait for that fault line to reveal itself, the more impenetrable the silence gets, stretching from a moment into a realm onto itself. Vincent waits, he's good at waiting. He can wait this out.

If Vincent sixth sense decided to develop into a full blown telepathy right now, it wouldn't be a moment too soon, though.

Finally, D moves. It's barely a shift, but Vincent's watching him closely, he sees the moment his elbow presses back against the cape, where it pushes at the fabric ever so slight – there's a metallic clink and something shifts. Then he sees it.

D sets his belt down on the counter.

Vincent's mouth goes dry.

D doesn't take his clothes off; he barely takes his _hat_ off even when they set their things down for a rest. He keeps himself fully clothed, boots and cape and hat and all. And even that rare few times he took his cape off... he definitely left the belt on. There's been only one time he didn't.

Vincent goes to him, taking his glove off as he goes, dropping it onto the floor. D doesn't so much twitch, doesn't turn, doesn't make a move, just rests his hand by the belt and waits as Vincent steps behind him, close enough to brush against the back of D's cape. The dhampir waits, silent and impassive, as Vincent considers him.

Then, testing, he takes bit of the loose fabric between his fingers and lifts.

D doesn't move, doesn't look at him – but Vincent can see his reflection on the window now. Their own eyes meet – and D closes his.

Slowly Vincent pulls the cape up and out of the way, bundling it up over his wrist as he reaches out to touch D's back. He reaches upwards, pressing against the strong muscles bracketing D's spine, and the dhampir...

Oh.

Vincent presses a little closer, pressing with his hand. D doesn't move for a moment, as immobile as a statue, but then, slowly, he leans forward, his arms straight as he leans onto them, onto the counter. Slowly, D bends forward.

 _Oh_.

Vincent's fingers clench for a moment against the strange, leathery fabric of D's skin tight suit. Then, the move still mostly covered by the cape, he starts trailing his hand downward. D's shoulders tense even more, but he stays still.

God, Vincent wants to ask but he doesn't. He wants to feel it more than he wants to hear it, he wants _discover it_. There are so many implications, delicious, delightful implications, and just from this alone, he burns to know.

His finger slide to the seam between the top and bottom of D's suit, and slowly he starts pushing down. Under it, D's skin is just as smooth and cool as he remembers, good five degrees cooler than normal human temperature. It makes Vincent want to spread out over it, just to warm it up, just to see if he could.

Makes him want to rake his nails over it to see if he can make welts on it.

Slowly he pushes the fabric down the smooth swell of D's ass and leaves it right there, at the edge of his thigh, in order to push his fingers between the valley of his cheeks. He's warmer there – still cooler than normal human, but there's definite warmth there.

D inhales audibly and then, as Vincent watches in silent fascination, he bends forward all the way, until he can rest his elbows on the counter, until his torso is in line with the floor. Vincent watches him, slowly burning inside out, and then he pushes D's cape forward, to pool at his back, to get a better view of what was being offered. And it is _very much_ being offered, and very blatantly at that.

For once, D is being pretty damn clear about what he wants.

And good god, it's a good view. It's a _glorious_ view.

Vincent closes his eyes for a moment, swallowing against the swell of heat inside him. Then he looks his fill, taking in the delightful indecency of it. D is always so meticulously covered, he hadn't really known to appreciate the sheer _irregularity_ of it the last time, he'd been burning for it too much, but now...

Seeing someone strong on their knees unwillingly has nothing on seeing them _bend_ by choice.

Feeling strangely hazy, almost as if in a dream, Vincent moves his hand, up and down along the tight seam of D's buttocks and then deeper, right where D wants him. The dhampir twitches, his shoulder tense – against Vincent's fingertip, the entrance clenches. Still, he stays there, stays bend over and open and Vincent could now push his fingers inside, dry and painful, if he wanted to.

He almost does, just to see if he could make D wince.

In the end, though, that's not what he wants.

Instead Vincent pushes D's trousers down a little more, not low enough to restrict movement and bind the man down, but enough to get them out of the way. Then he takes his fingers off, placing them on the right cheek before lifting his gold covered left hand on the left. Slowly, very very slowly, he dips his thumbs inwards and then spreads D's cheeks apart.

D's thighs tense and for a moment Vincent can see dimples on skin, can see his passage _twitch_ , before the dhampir forces himself to relax again. He says or does nothing else – just waits. Welcoming whatever's about to follow.

For a moment Vincent just stares, inching his right thumb closer, almost close enough to touch. D's going to be tight, he can tell – the dhampir doesn't do this often, if ever. He's going to be _brutally_ tight.

D breathes slowly in and out and then he bows his head down too. Vincent's eyes follow the movement of his hair as it spills over his shoulders, snagging on the horned shoulder pads, pooling on the counter all around D's face. It looks like surrender.

Implications, implications, Vincent thinks hazily – and then he goes down on his knees and gets his tongue on D.

The reaction is instant. A tension shudders through D like an earth quake and his leg muscles go hard under Vincent's hands. It's almost enough to close him up again, but Vincent's fingers dig in, holding him open as he swipes his tongue slowly across the entrance, tasting – close to nothing, really. Most of what he tastes what he assumes is the fabric of D's clothes – they cling _very_ close to skin after all.

Somewhat distantly, Vincent wonders just how do a dhampir's bodily functions _function_. D doesn't sweat, he doesn't bother bathing, he doesn't –

Then the tip of his tongue snags against the clenching opening and D lets out a small, choked sound, and all thought flies out of Vincent's head. He presses there just enough to feel it twitch, feel it _give_. D shifts his footing, Vincent can't see it but he feels him spread a little and then, then the barriers gives, he opens, and Vincent's tongue presses in.

How long Vincent spends tonguing D's ass, he's not sure. Time wanes and fazes and he completely loses all grip of it. He feels D ease slowly, the clenching tension giving up as Vincent licks and sucks and eventually just mindlessly fucks his tongue in as deep as he can get it. Whenever he pulls back enough to see, he gets mesmerized by how red and swollen he's gotten that tight opening, how it gleams wetly in the faint light screening from the windows. Then he has to dive back in, has to try and get deeper, has to try and get a moan out of D.

It's eventually D's hand reaching back to grab at his hair that gets him to stop. The dhampir tugs at him blindly, and as Vincent raises to his feet he can see the D's whole body is trembling with intermittent shudders. D's leaning onto the counter with one arm, his body arched to the side to reach for Vincent and his face is flushed, emotions still carefully restrained, but definitely effected.

Their eyes meet and then D's looks down, at Vincent's lips – which at this point must be about as swollen as D's ass. The dhampir's lips part but he doesn't say anything, just breathes shakily.

Not looking away, Vincent searches for the release of his cape – it's in the way, he has to see D's whole body, he has to –

D knocks his hand aside with his own and the cape slides off, shoulder pads and all, onto the floor. D's body under it is glorious, trembling and tense and needy where it's bent over and arched, his backside bared, his ass –

Vincent inhales slowly, once and then again, and then he starts tearing his own clothes out of the way. He throws his cape somewhere behind him and his wide belt joins D's cape at their feet. D watches him, resting both elbows on the counter now, fingers clenched into fists – and then he arches his back, his waist dipping slightly lower as his hips arch up and he all but presents himself.

He looks utterly otherworldly.

Vincent runs a shaky hand down his back, from the tight cloth to his waist where his skin is revealed and down to his ass. D sighs and shifts his footing, weight on the balls of his feet now, ankles pointing outwards, _glorious_. Vincent takes a moment just to look.

One of these days, he thinks, he really needs to get D naked.

Later, he thinks. There'd be time for that, later. There'd be all the time in the world because – because among other things, hundreds of other things all this implies... this is a welcome. Maybe there'd been other things behind the scenes – maybe D had been tempted to leave, maybe D had thought Vincent' had been tempted to leave who knows. Vincent isn't sure he cares anymore. Actions speak louder than words between them, they speak in multiple volumes at time and neither of them is leaving.

D lowers his head onto the counter and relaxes with a sigh as Vincent slowly presses home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it, that's the story. It's not perfect but it is finished.
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting :)


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